Chapter 1: Fifteen Dollars
Derek threw fifteen dollars onto the kitchen table while I was in labor.
The bills slid across the wood and stopped beside my trembling hand.
“Take it and call a taxi,” he said.
For a moment, I couldn't believe the words had come from my husband's mouth.
Another contraction ripped through my stomach. I grabbed the edge of the table, fighting to stay upright.
“Derek,” I gasped.
“My water broke.””
He checked his watch.
“So?””
“So the baby is coming!””
He sighed, as if I had interrupted something important.
“The hospital is ten minutes away, Claire. I'm not your personal chauffeur.””
I stared at him.
We had been married for four years. I had cooked his meals, washed his clothes, worked overtime when his business struggled, and sold my grandmother's engagement bracelet to help him pay his debts.
And now, when I needed him most, he was complaining about driving me to deliver his daughter.
“I can't drive,” I whispered.
“Then call somebody.””
He picked up his jacket.
“Derek, please.””
He paused at the door, but he didn't turn around.
“I'm already late.””
Then he left.
The front door slammed so hard that the little picture frame on the hallway wall tilted sideways.
I stood there, staring at the fifteen dollars.
One five-dollar bill.
One ten-dollar bill.
That was what my husband thought my life and our daughter's life were worth.
I tried reaching for my phone on the kitchen counter, but another contraction forced me to my knees.
The pain was unbearable.
I crawled across the cold tile, one hand protecting my stomach, the other reaching for the phone.
I had just managed to unlock it when someone knocked.
Three quick knocks.
Then the door opened.
“Claire?””
Margaret, my mother-in-law, stood in the doorway wearing her church coat. She carried a small handbag and a paper bag containing groceries.
Her eyes moved from my face to the wet floor.
Then she noticed the money.
“What happened?””
I tried to smile.
“I'm fine.””
Margaret dropped the groceries.
“Don't you dare lie to me.””
She hurried toward me and knelt beside my body.
“Where is Derek?””
“He went out.””
“Out where?””
“I don't know.””
Margaret looked at the front door.
Then she looked at the fifteen dollars.
Her expression changed.
“Did he leave you this?””
I nodded.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she carefully removed her coat and placed it around my shoulders.
“Can you stand?””
“I don't think so.””
“Then lean on me.””
She wrapped my arm around her shoulders and helped me toward the car.
As we passed the kitchen table, Margaret stopped.
She picked up the fifteen dollars.
Her fingers tightened around the bills.
“Unbelievable,” she whispered.
“Please don't be angry with him,” I said weakly.
Margaret turned toward me.
“Claire, I have spent years making excuses for my son. I'm finished doing that.””
The drive to the hospital was a blur.
Margaret drove with one hand on the steering wheel and kept the other close enough for me to grab whenever the pain became unbearable.
“Breathe, sweetheart.””
“I can't.””
“Yes, you can. Look at me. Just breathe.””
When we reached the hospital, two nurses rushed me inside.
Margaret followed.
She answered questions, signed the paperwork, and held my hand while I tried to remember my own date of birth.
A nurse asked whether my husband was coming.
I looked at my phone.
No missed calls.
No messages.
“I'm not sure,” I answered.
Margaret stepped forward.
“I'm her emergency contact. Put my number down.””
Hours passed.
The delivery room filled with bright lights, hurried instructions, and the sounds of machines.
Then, finally, a tiny cry broke through the exhaustion.
My daughter.
The nurse placed her against my chest.
She had a little pink nose, a patch of dark hair, and fingers so small they barely wrapped around mine.
“Hello, sweetheart,” I whispered.
I cried into her blanket.
Margaret stood beside the bed, wiping her cheeks.
“She looks like you,” she said.
I smiled weakly.
“Do you think Derek will come?””
Margaret's smile disappeared.
“He should.””
“He probably doesn't know how far along I am.””
Margaret looked at me as though I had said something heartbreaking.
“Claire, you're nine months pregnant. He knows.””
I turned toward the window.
I didn't want to cry anymore.
A few minutes later, Margaret left the room.
When she returned, she was carrying something I had never seen before.
An old black leather ledger.
Its corners were worn, and a thin strap held it closed.
She placed it carefully beside my daughter.
“What is that?”” I asked.
“Something that belongs to you.””
I frowned.
“Margaret, I don't understand.””
She pulled a chair closer to the bed.
“Before you open it, I need you to promise me something.””
“What?””
“Whatever you discover inside those pages, you will protect that little girl from Derek.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did he do?””
Margaret looked at the door.
Then she leaned closer.
“Your husband has been lying to you since before your wedding.””
I stared at the ledger.
“About what?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“About who owns your house. About where his money comes from. And about why he married you.””
My hand froze on the leather cover.
May you like
Then Margaret whispered six words that changed everything.
“Claire, Derek was never the owner.””
