Chapter 1

There was a crash.

I was pinned in the back seat, my one-month-old daughter in my arms, and both of us were dying.

I begged my wife, who didn't have a scratch on her, to call an ambulance.

Instead, unhurried, she pulled out a pen and paper and set them in front of me.

"Sign this first."

"You caused this accident by badgering me and making me lose focus. Every loss is on you."

The baby's breathing was growing fainter, and I was frantic.

"Angela Delgado, this is your child too—"

She didn't budge.

"Repairs, emergency care, and every cost that comes after are yours alone to bear."

"If you don't sign, don't expect me to make this call."

I couldn't gamble. Shaking, I signed my name.

There was no ink pad, so I dipped my finger in my own blood and pressed my fingerprint down.

Angela nodded, satisfied, and carefully folded the paper into her wallet.

She was about to dial for help when the ringtone she'd set for her old flame went off.

"Angela, my dog's in trouble giving birth, the puppy's stuck and won't come out."

"I'm so scared. Can you come help me?"

Angela answered instantly.

"Don't be scared. I'll get in touch with the best animal hospital right now."

"Don't worry about the money, I'll cover all of it. Just wait for me like a good boy."

Then she left me there alone and walked off without a backward glance.

I touched my daughter's face, growing cold, and my vision blurred.

Eight years of marriage. Let it end here.

1

In the end it was a kind stranger passing by who called the ambulance.

My daughter and I were wheeled into the emergency room at the same time, a nurse's voice drifting past my ear.

"Hemorrhagic shock, no heartbeat on the infant. Where's the family?"

Someone gave my arm a gentle nudge.

"Sir, give me a number for the family."

My heart felt like it was being crushed, the pain stealing my breath.

Without thinking, I gave them Angela's number.

The nurse dialed and put it on speaker.

"Is this Rupert Sullivan's family? He and his daughter were in an accident with severe bleeding. We need a family member to come sign the surgical consent forms."

The line went quiet for two seconds. Then came a snort.

"This again. Rupert, how childish can you get?"

Her voice was pure impatience.

"I just went to help Matthew Fox's dog deliver, and you're swearing on our kid over it?"

"Fighting a dog for attention. Have you no shame?"

Faintly, I heard Matthew's voice in the background.

"Angela, Rice Cake won't eat anything."

She answered him, then turned back to say to me,

"Matthew's dog just gave birth, she's weak, I can't leave."

"Keep the bills, we'll split them later. Don't worry, I won't take advantage of you."

The call cut off.

"No need. There's no need to split anything ever again."

I murmured it to the dark screen.

The nurse stood beside me, her face full of pity.

"Mr. Sullivan, do you want to contact any other family?"

I shook my head, forced myself upright, and signed my own name with a trembling hand.

When I woke again, the nurse was wheeling me into the morgue.

"Mr. Sullivan, I'm so sorry. We couldn't save your daughter."

"My condolences."

I touched my daughter's tiny, soft face and broke down sobbing.

After a long time I dug out my phone to tell Angela, and found that Matthew had posted several updates in a row.

A luxury pet delivery room, Angela feeding the puppy goat's-milk formula with a syringe.

The last picture was an itemized bill.

Emergency delivery, postnatal care, a dedicated maternity nurse. Total: thirty-eight thousand.

In the line for the payer's signature: Angela.

Below it, his reply to a friend's comment read,

"Angela paid for all of it. She said we couldn't shortchange Rice Cake. You don't know what it means, that safety of having the mother right there."

I couldn't help a bitter smile.

From the day we married until now, she'd split every single thing with me.

Matthew's dog gives birth, and she pays, does the work, and tends to it herself.

So it wasn't that she was cheap. It was that I wasn't worth spending her money on.

The next moment, Angela's call came in.

I thought her conscience had stirred, that she was checking on me and the baby.

Instead, the second I picked up, out came her cold interrogation.

"Rupert, what's your problem?"

"This morning it was fifteen dollars to park for you and your daughter. Your share is seven-fifty. Why haven't you sent it over yet?"

Listening to her, all I felt was how absurd it was, how cruel.

"We'll settle the gas at the end of the month. Parking's split down the middle, seven-fifty, send it to me now so you don't forget again."

The IV needle was still in the back of my hand, cold fluid trickling into me drop by drop.

My daughter was gone. I was lying in a hospital bed, my own life in the balance.

And she was still haggling over a seven-fifty split.

"It's only seven-fifty. You're not going to stiff me on it, are you?"

I opened my phone and quickly sent her seven-fifty.

She collected it in a second, then replied, "Be more responsible from now on. Don't make me chase you three or four times."

I scrolled back through our chat, and it was all this, the back-and-forth of tallying up and splitting.

This marriage I'd poured eight years into carefully. It really was utterly pointless.

Let this last seven-fifty be the final payment I make on it.