One Miscarriage, The End of Our Marriage

On our third wedding anniversary, I was half-kneeling at the hospital payment window. My bank card had exactly $27.60 left on it.

The doctor had told me, 「If your isn't admitted for bed rest, the baby could be in danger.」

On the thirtieth call, Finn Henson finally picked up.

Phoebe Hardy's sugary voice drifted through the line. 「Finn, did you really get the Porsche delivered for me?」

I clutched the bill, my hand shaking hard. 「You said the company had no money, but you have money to buy her a car?」