After I got pregnant, I lost my only source of income.

So I wouldn't starve, my husband told me to do the housework in exchange for living money.

But I couldn't bend down.

I couldn't reach under the couch.

My feet were swollen.

By the time I got home from buying groceries, he'd already finished his takeout.

I clutched the plastic bag.

I looked at him, at a loss.

He tossed me five dollars.

"That's all there is."

Five dollars wasn't enough for a cab.

I had to squeeze onto the subway both ways.

Back home.

I watched him put together a five-hundred-thousand-dollar welcome package for his new intern.

And finally I broke.

"Jeffrey Mason, I'm your wife! Can't you give me a little more money?"

He snapped a photo of a limited-edition Chanel bag for the intern.

"This is my money."

The further along I got, the less I earned.

That day I was kneeling on the floor, going through his wallet.

He pushed the door open with the intern beside him.

I gripped the three thousand dollars in my hand.

"Please, I'm begging you. Having the baby costs money too!

"I'll pay you back!"

He shook his head.

And reached over and dialed 911.

The policewoman frowned.

"She's doing it to have the baby too. Isn't it your responsibility to give her the money?"

Jeffrey smiled.

"When my dad needed the money for his treatment.

"Didn't she keep a death grip on the family's money then too?"

I lowered my swollen, tear-reddened eyelids.

I wiped my eyes with my puffy hands.

And held them out.

"Go ahead. Arrest me."

...

The two hands I held out trembled faintly.

The handcuffs tightened again and again in the policewoman's grip.

Finally she whipped around.

"Mr. Mason! You really mean to let your pregnant wife go to jail?

"Three thousand dollars is half a day's profit for you. Do you really have to make it this hard for her?

"She's seven months along!"

Jeffrey's hand rested lazily on the waist of the intern, Jean Swanson.

"She's already admitted it. So arrest her."

"You—"

The policewoman stared at him, not without surprise.

Jean covered her lips and smiled.

"You don't know, do you. Back when Mr. Mason's father was critically ill, she was the one in charge of all the family's money.

"Three thousand dollars for the surgery, and she flat-out refused to give it to Mr. Mason.

"And so old Mr. Simmons died full of regret."

At that.

Jean dabbed at the corner of her eye, all regret.

Thinking of his father.

Jeffrey's face darkened a little.

He lit a cigarette with a cold smile.

"When it comes down to it, she brought it on herself."

"This..."

The policewoman couldn't find her words either.

She turned to look at me.

Her tone softened a little.

"Ma'am, is there anything else you'd like to say?"

I lifted my head, eyes red.

Looking at Jeffrey.

"Dad... he knew everything."

Jeffrey went blank.

"What are you talking about?"

Jean looked a little startled.

"Yes, that was the hardest time Mr. Mason ever had, but he handed over his whole salary to you every month.

"Taking a little here and there was one thing, but of all times, when the old man got sick you went and..."

She stopped at just the right moment.

And looked over at Jeffrey.

Jeffrey's brow tightened.

"Take her away."

The handcuffs went on.

My swollen feet made every step hard.

As I passed Jeffrey.

I stumbled and nearly fell.

Jeffrey stepped back.

It was the policewoman who caught me.

I lifted my head.

He had one hand shielding Jean behind him.

His eyes dropped to me without a trace of warmth.

The corner of Jean's mouth curled up in a mocking little smile before she could help it.

I swallowed.

And quietly followed the policewoman out.

In the car.

The policewoman sat beside me.

"Did you really withhold his father's surgery fee back then?"

I looked out the window.

"There really was no money."

"How could that be?"

The policewoman was taken aback.

I gave a bitter laugh.

"Don't look at his seven- or eight-figure salary now. In the beginning, he and I both only made five or six thousand.

"He handed it all to me to manage.

"Rent in Los Angeles isn't cheap.

"After the rent and utilities, after the daily necessities, and with my mother-in-law's asthma, I had to set aside part of it for her medicine.

"Whatever was left, sometimes I still had to borrow from a friend."

Pity flickered in the policewoman's eyes.

She pressed her lips together.

"I know. It was the same for me when I first started.

"I still had to lean on my parents to get by..."

I gave a bitter smile.

The car fell silent.

When they brought me into the station, the male officer who came to run the questioning stopped short.

"A pregnant woman?"

The policewoman nodded.

"What'd she do that made it worth arresting her this far along?"

"Stole money."

"How much?"

"Three thousand."

"That's more than enough to open a case. Where's the victim?"

"Her husband."

The male officer's eyes went wide. He looked over at me.

My eyes were red. I lowered my head.

"Fine. Bring her in."

They cuffed me to the chair in the interrogation room. But the male officer didn't start questioning me. He pulled out his phone instead.

"What's your husband's number? Let me see if I can get him to drop the case."

I froze.

The policewoman was looking at me too. "Right. Honestly, marital property, husband and wife, there's usually a lot of room to work something out."

I clenched my fists. "There's nothing to work out.

"He already made me sign a prenuptial property agreement."

The policewoman stared at me, startled.

I pressed my lips together, ashamed. "The day after my father-in-law died, he stopped handing over his salary.

"And he had me sign an agreement. From then on, his money was his."

"That's..." The male officer didn't seem to know what to say.

The call had already connected. Jeffrey's voice came through.

"Mr. Mason, your wife isn't in any condition for this right now. Could you come pick her up first? You can file the case later if you want."

"No."

On the other end, Jeffrey's voice was flat and merciless. "Handle it however it's supposed to be handled. Don't go easy just because she's my wife.

"Officer, I won't write a single word of a statement of forgiveness."

"But—hello?"

The line went to a dial tone.

The male officer stared at the dead phone, stunned.

"It's all right. We'll keep working on him for you."

"Don't bother."

I shook my head and forced out a pale smile. "Just do it by the book."

"But you—"

"It's fine."

I held myself up through the exhaustion. "I'm still a month from my due date."

The two officers exchanged a look and sighed. "If that's how it is... ma'am, are you okay?"

The policewoman suddenly stood up.

I curled in on myself.

The next second, I dropped hard off the chair.

When I woke again, I was in the hospital.

Jeffrey had come with someone else. My mother-in-law.

She looked at me and wiped at her eyes without thinking. "Augie, don't be scared. I already made that rotten boy drop the case. It's over now."

I looked over at Jeffrey, a little surprised.

He stood off to the side, saying nothing, his expression cold.

Margery Mason had rushed here for my sake, and she had to head straight back.

At the airport entrance, I sat in the car. I could hear her scolding him outside.

"Back when your father was sick, she did everything she could! You think things were really so good for you two then?

"Augie has never once let this family down!

"When my asthma got bad, she was the one who borrowed money to buy my medicine!"

Curious, I leaned closer to the car window.

I heard Jeffrey's cold laugh. "Mom, back then I handed every paycheck to her to hold.

"The money she used to buy your medicine.

"Was mine."

My fingers dug into the edge of the open window.

I watched my mother-in-law stand there, unable to get out a single word against him. She turned away in silence.

The driver's door opened. Jeffrey got in. "We can go home now."

I held my belly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Back home, the housekeeper already had dinner ready.

Jeffrey hung his coat on the rack. "Eat."

"Okay."

"The doctor says you're malnourished. Every meal from now on has to have protein.

"Mom had me order the ingredients online for you. To eat before you deliver."

I went still for a moment. "Th... thank you."

The dishes on the table were all light and nourishing. Well suited for a pregnant woman.

I was just about to sit down when a hand caught hold of me.

"So. How are you going to pay for it?"

I froze for a second.

My stomach was already twisting with hunger.

It was rare for me to feel this desperate, and my voice came out almost pleading.

"Jeffrey, can we let it go this once?"

"No."

"Jeffrey..."

I stared at him blankly.

He kept the payment code on his phone turned squarely toward me.

"We agreed. My money is my money."

"I..."

"One more thing."

Jeffrey scrolled through his own account.

"After you passed out at the station, there was still two hundred and fifty in medical fees.

"The policewoman covered it. I paid her back for you.

"When are you planning to pay me back?"

My hand clenched tight around the hem of my shirt.

The other rested awkwardly on my belly.

"I don't have any money."

My voice was so small I could barely hear it myself.

"If you don't have money."

Jeffrey sighed.

"Then you don't get to eat this meal."

"Jeffrey, I..."

"Wendy Whitney, clear it away."

"Wait!"

My hand pressed down on Wendy's arm.

I turned back to him, eyes red.

"Can I put it on a tab?"

Jeffrey didn't answer.

My voice cracked into tears.

"I'm begging you..."

Wendy's hand stopped where it was.

She glanced at Jeffrey, unsure.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

The next second.

The calculator on Jeffrey's phone was in front of my face.

"Based on the current bank lending rate, I'll charge you three percent annual interest, zero point two five percent monthly.

"Your nutrition costs and hospital fees come to six hundred dollars total.

"If you pay it off within three months, in the end you'll owe me

"six hundred and four dollars and fifty cents."

My voice wouldn't stop shaking.

"Do you really have to work it out this precisely with me?"

Jeffrey narrowed his eyes.

"Not precise enough."

My fist trembled faintly.

I forced the words out.

"I can't come up with that much..."

"Then leave it owing. Interest on interest."

An IOU was set on the table.

"Pay in three months, it's six hundred and four fifty.

"Pay in six months, it's six hundred and nine.

"Pay in a year, it's six hundred eighteen.

"When you pay, that's when the amount gets set. Work it out yourself.

"If you agree, sign, and eat."

I looked at that IOU.

The room swam in front of me.

My stomach was already cramping from hunger.

With a shaking hand I picked up the pen.

The moment I signed my name.

Jeffrey set a bowl of porridge in front of me.

"That's fine now."

The porridge smelled good.

It was hot.

It was the best bowl of porridge I'd had in my whole life.

But I drank it crying.

When the meal was over.

I was the one who washed the dishes.

I knocked on the door of Jeffrey's study.

"The dishes are all done. That's five dollars in wages for me."

He didn't look up.

"Mm."

"If there's nothing else you need me to do, I'm going to rest."

"Fine."

I turned, one hand braced on the small of my back.

"Augusta Henson."

I looked back.

Another agreement was laid on the table.

"The allocation of usage rights for each area of the house. Jean drew up the agreement."

I picked it up, unable to believe it.

I read the terms out, one by one.

"The first, second, and third floors are all the private property of Party A, Jeffrey Mason.

"Any usage by Party B, Augusta Henson, incurs a fee of thirty dollars per hour.

"Except for housework, every other activity incurs a usage fee, including simply passing through."

"If you have no questions, sign it."

Jeffrey held the pen out to me.

I set the agreement down.

"Jeffrey, are you telling me I have to pay you rent even to sleep?"

"You don't have to sleep in my areas."

I went still for a beat.

He pointed at the supplementary clause.

"The fourth-floor attic is a shared marital area for both Party A and Party B. Usage by Party B, Augusta Henson, is free of charge."

"The attic..."

My voice shook.

"It's only forty square feet, and it's piled full of junk..."

Jeffrey didn't look up.

"Then you can keep writing IOUs."

I stopped talking.

I lowered my head.

I signed at the bottom.

As I finished the last stroke.

My tears struck the page too.

"It's signed."

He took it.

The pad of his thumb brushed that little smear of tears.

He didn't care.