Chapter 1 - THE DOCTOR ASKED WHERE MY HUSBAND WAS
By the time I reached the emergency room in Phoenix, my clothes had dried enough to feel stiff against my skin.
My mother, Elena, met me there.
I had called her from the taxi because I could not bring myself to call Gabriel.
Not after hearing that study door lock.
Not after watching my husband see his pregnant wife soaked in filthy water, doubled over with pain, and choose a room with a key over me.
The emergency physician examined me.
Bloodwork.
Ultrasound.
Monitoring.
Questions.
“How long were you standing today?”
“About six hours.”
“Were you lifting anything heavy?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been having contractions before today?”
“Mild ones.”
“Did your obstetrician restrict your activity?”
I nodded.
My mother turned toward me.
“You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want you worrying.”
The doctor’s expression said exactly what she thought of that decision.
Then she turned the ultrasound screen slightly toward me.
“There.”
A tiny flutter.
My baby’s heartbeat.
I started crying.
The doctor softened.
“The heartbeat is strong. I don’t see signs right now that you’re losing the pregnancy.”
I covered my face.
Right now.
Those two words mattered.
She continued.
“But you are dehydrated, and your uterus is irritable. You need rest, hydration, follow-up with your obstetrician, and no more marathon cooking sessions.”
My mother looked furious.
Not at me.
At the people who knew those restrictions and ignored them.
Then the doctor asked:
“Is your husband coming?”
I looked at the ceiling.
“No.”
That was the moment my phone vibrated.
Gabriel.
I ignored it.
Again.
Then a text.
Where are you? Mom is hysterical. You ruined the memorial.
Not:
Are you okay?
Not:
Is the baby okay?
The memorial.
I handed the phone to my mother.
She read it.
Her mouth hardened.
“Mariana.”
“What?”
“This marriage has a bigger problem than Gertrude.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She handed the phone back.
“I don’t think you do.”
At midnight, after the doctor discharged me, we drove to Mom’s small house in Glendale.
I showered.
Changed clothes.
Lay down.
Then opened my email because exhaustion makes people do stupid ordinary things.
There was a message from a bank I barely recognized.
ANNUAL GUARANTOR NOTICE — GABRIEL SYSTEMS / RG PROPERTY & HOSPITALITY LLC
I frowned.
Guarantor?
I opened it.
The message referenced a commercial credit line.
Original amount:
$214,000.
Borrowers:
Gabriel Systems LLC.
RG Property & Hospitality LLC.
Personal guarantors:
Gabriel Alvarez.
And—
Mariana Alvarez.
I sat upright.
My mother came running.
“What happened?”
I turned the screen toward her.
“I have never seen this loan in my life.”
At the bottom of the notice was a date.
Twenty-three months earlier.
Almost exactly when Gabriel first told me his technology company had entered a “temporary cash-flow crisis.”
Two years.
Two years of cancelled vacations.
Two years of me taking extra work.
Two years of Gabriel telling me we had to be careful because his company was struggling.
My mother sat beside me.
“Call a lawyer in the morning.”
I kept staring at my name.
Then I noticed the second company.
RG Property & Hospitality.
“RG,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Raymond and Gertrude.”
My mother became very still.
May you like
Suddenly, the bucket of dirty water felt like the smallest thing Gertrude had thrown at me.
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