That should have been impossible, because I had made sure she had everything she needed.
After our daughter was born, life settled into a rhythm that felt safe, if a little tiring. My wife, Emily, stayed home to recover, and I went back to work sooner than I wanted to because the bills didn’t pause just because we had a baby. My mother moved in to help, which seemed like the most practical solution. She had raised three children and always carried herself with quiet confidence, so I trusted her completely.
Every month, I transferred money to her account—enough to cover groceries, supplements, and anything Emily might need. I didn’t question it, because it felt like the responsible thing to do. When I came home in the evenings, everything looked fine on the surface. The house was clean, the baby was bathed and sleeping, and my mother would give me a short report about the day. Emily always smiled when I walked in, a little tired but otherwise normal.
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