For the first time in years, I had imagined a future without financial fear.
I pictured paying off our mortgage, restoring my retirement account, and finding specialists who could give Mark the best possible care.
I had rehearsed the moment when I would place the ticket in his hand and tell him that our suffering was finally over.
Instead, I heard him discussing how he planned to continue exploiting me.
“When I leave the hospital, I’ll tell her the business needs another fifty thousand,” he said.
Vanessa sounded uncomfortable.
“Your business doesn’t need another fifty thousand.”
“It does if I say it does.”
“Mark, you’re not even supposed to be in the hospital this week.”
There was a pause before he answered.
“That’s why I pay for private consultations.”
My breath caught.
For nearly three years, Mark had been suffering from a condition that our doctors repeatedly described as manageable.
