Husband Schemes to Sell Baby

The car ride home from the hospital felt longer than it should have. Every bump in the road sent a sharp jolt through my abdomen, reminding me of the angry red line carved across my lower belly. The doctors had warned me the incision would be sensitive for weeks, but nothing prepared me for this—the constant ache that pulsed with every breath, every slight movement.

Bennett drove carefully, his hands steady on the wheel. I watched him from the passenger seat, grateful for his focus. Our daughter slept peacefully in her car seat behind us, oblivious to the pain her arrival had cost me. Worth it, I told myself. Every second of agony was worth her tiny, perfect existence.

"You're going to love this," Bennett said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice carried a strange excitement I couldn't quite place. "I've arranged everything for your recovery. You won't have to lift a finger."

I managed a weak smile. "You've already done so much."

"Not enough." He glanced at me, and something flickered in his eyes—something I was too exhausted to interpret. "I hired someone. A professional caregiver. Mara Hawkins, from next door. She'll be staying with us full-time to help you recover."

Mara. I knew her vaguely—the woman with the bright smile who always seemed to be gardening when we came home. We'd exchanged pleasantries over the fence a handful of times, nothing more.

"Bennett, that's incredibly generous, but—"

"I'm paying her a hundred thousand dollars."

The number hit me like a physical force. I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "What?"

"One hundred thousand. For three months of care." He said it casually, as if discussing grocery expenses. "You deserve the best, Vi. After everything you've been through, this is the least I can do."

My throat tightened with emotion. A hundred thousand dollars. It was excessive, almost absurd, but the gesture itself—the proof of how much he valued my wellbeing—made tears prick at my eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just focus on healing."

When we pulled into the driveway, Mara was already waiting on our front porch. She wore pale blue scrubs and her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Professional. Capable. She hurried down the steps as Bennett helped me out of the car, her face arranged in lines of warm concern.

"Violet! Oh, you poor thing." Her voice was honey-sweet. "Let's get you inside and comfortable. Don't worry about a thing—I'm here to take care of everything."

Bennett supported most of my weight as we climbed the front steps. Each one felt like a mountain. By the time we reached the bedroom, sweat beaded on my forehead and my vision swam with exhaustion. Mara had already turned down the bed, fluffed the pillows into a supportive arrangement.

"There we go," she cooed as Bennett lowered me onto the mattress. "Nice and easy. How's your pain level? On a scale of one to ten?"

"Seven," I whispered. Maybe eight. Maybe nine.

"We'll get you sorted." She bustled around the room with practiced efficiency, adjusting the curtains to dim the harsh afternoon light. "I've studied postpartum recovery extensively. You're in excellent hands."

Bennett hovered near the doorway, watching Mara work with an expression I couldn't quite read. Pride? Admiration? I was too tired to analyze it. My body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together with fishing line.

"I'll let you rest," Bennett said, already backing out of the room. "Mara will take care of you. I need to handle some work calls."

"Wait—" But he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Mara smiled down at me. "Men," she said with a light laugh. "They can't handle the messy parts, can they? But that's why I'm here. To handle everything your husband can't."

Something about her tone made my skin prickle, but I pushed the feeling away. Paranoid, I told myself. The hormones, the exhaustion—they were making me read malice where there was only kindness.

"Thank you," I managed. "For being here. For helping."

"Of course." She adjusted my pillows again, her fingers cool against my neck. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, Violet. I'll be here every moment you need me."

She said it like a promise.

It sounded like a threat.

I closed my eyes, dismissing the thought as absurd. Bennett had spent a fortune to ensure my recovery. Mara was a professional caregiver. Everything would be fine.

Everything had to be fine.

I just needed to rest.