Maya stared at the screen, her eyes widening as she read the numbers. She did not reach for the phone, as if touching the glass would make the theft more real.
“David, please,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “We can just ask them to return it. Do not go to his office. Do not make a scene.”
“They took the prescription formula from the pantry, Maya,” I said. “They left you in a freezing apartment with a newborn.”
“Your mother was angry about the wedding gifts,” she said, looking down at the white hospital blanket. “She feels entitled to your income because she raised you. If you fight her, she will make sure everyone in the parish knows.”
“Let them know,” I said.
I rubbed my gold wedding ring, feeling the cold metal turn against my knuckle. The sheer disregard for my son’s life was something I could not slip past.
