Chapter 2: Selling Everything for a Miracle

"At the time, I had maybe five grand in savings. The rest was in stocks. The doctor said she might never wake up, but I didn’t care—I just wanted her alive. I’d have sold my own soul if someone made an offer."

I broke down, voice cracking. My face was wet with tears, but I didn’t bother to hide it.

After a while, I wiped my face and continued. "She was in the ICU—just being there costs at least two grand a day. My money ran out quick. Friends helped, but that dried up. I had to sell the car and house."

“Didn’t you know about your wife’s money?”

“After we got married, we didn’t mix finances. She handled hers, I handled mine. I paid the mortgage and bills; she paid for social stuff and all the home renovations."

The detective raised an eyebrow. "Renovations?"

"Yeah, she paid for all of it—furniture, appliances. We’d argue about what to buy, but she always got her way in the end."

He nodded. “Did you think about asking your parents for help?”

“She was in bad shape. I didn’t want my folks worrying unless things got better. Her mom and stepdad loved her a lot, too."

He flipped his notebook. "Your father-in-law isn’t her real dad, right?"

"Yeah, he’s her stepdad, but he treated her like his own. Before we got married, he gave her a house—the one we lived in."

Another detective scoffed, "A house is treating her well?"

I straightened up. "We’re regular people. A house worth a few hundred grand for a stepdaughter—that’s good in my book."

He backed off, his partner giving him a look. Someone else tried to break the tension with a smile. “You really stand up for your wife and her family. Did you keep in touch?”

“I called the folks twice a month. I think my wife did, too."

“What about her biological father?”

I hesitated. “Never met him. Last year, we just had a family dinner. She said she hadn’t seen him in years, couldn’t even reach him."

The detective leaned in. "Didn’t she tell you her dad passed away?"

"What?" I felt my hands go cold, gripping the water glass.

"Her real dad was a miner—worked for her stepdad’s company. There was an accident."

My heart sank. "I had no idea. Why didn’t they tell me?"

The detectives exchanged looks. "Why’d you sell all the houses and cars? Including her properties from before marriage?"

"I needed cash, but the market’s terrible. I listed everything, hoping at least one would sell fast."

"But after selling one, why keep selling?"

"First one to sell was her condo on Maple Avenue, but the buyer needed a mortgage, so the cash didn’t come through. Our home sold next—I priced it low, needed cash. At the time, she was critical, and our baby was sick, so I asked a coworker to help. Later, the other two houses sold and the money came in. If I hadn’t sold, I’d have to pay penalties and piss off my coworkers—the buyers were all relatives of my supervisors. You know how it goes in a small town…"

I let the rest hang. Anyone who’s worked in county government knows how favors stack up.

The detective nodded, almost sympathetic. Two prime houses, sold at a loss—you don’t really get a choice when someone in power wants it.

“Where are you living now?”

“The buyer’s not moving in right away, so they’re renting it back to me.”

“Why sell your wife’s car?”

"A college friend does car mods. I brought it to him for appraisal, but one of his guys took it out and wrecked it. He had to buy it off me."

"A car accident, too?"

"Yeah."

"How’d it happen?"

"No clue. Cops should have a record."

He paused. "When you sold everything, didn’t you think about your future?"

I just stared. He clarified: "Do you know what it takes to care for someone in a vegetative state?"

Another detective jumped in. "You married her for the good life, but if she stayed a vegetable, after selling it all, you’d be broke. Didn’t that cross your mind?"

I swallowed. "I did, but… that’s a life. Would you just let her die to save yourself?"