I Sold My Voice for His Cure,He Gave the Money to Another Woman

My husband told me he'd been diagnosed with a serious illness. He needed surgery, and we were two hundred thousand dollars short.

I took a singing job at a nightclub, performing every night until two in the morning.

One song at a time, saving every dollar.

That night, I was requested by name to sing in the top-floor VIP room.

I pushed open the door. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, a circle of people lounged on the sofas. Max Joyce had his arm around a woman's waist, his head thrown back in laughter.

The laughter died. In that one second of silence, he saw me standing in the doorway.

He let go of Katherine Delgado. The cigarette between his fingers didn't move.

"What are you doing here?"

"I sing here. For money. To pay for your treatment."

The corner of Max's mouth twitched. He said nothing.

Katherine beat him to it.

"Oh, so you're the one? Max told me you two were divorced ages ago."

"He said his ex-wife was a total handful, always blowing money, completely clueless. And that your singing was awful. No idea where you got the confidence to embarrass yourself like this."

The room laughed. He didn't stop them.

Katherine stood, walked up to me, and lowered her voice so only I could hear.

"Half the money you've been earning here went straight to my account."

"Max told you it was for his treatment. It was actually my living allowance."

"I'm carrying his baby. Consider it your contribution to the baby shower."

I nodded, picked up the microphone.

"What would you like to hear?"

——

"A hundred per song. Pay by the track."

My voice came out so steady it sounded like a stranger's.

Someone hollered for a love song. I opened my mouth and sang without a single note wavering.

Max raised his glass to his lips and held it there, never drinking.

Katherine leaned against his shoulder, smiling.

"Not bad, actually. Though singing love songs in a place like this is a little... pathetic, don't you think?"

I finished the last song, set the microphone down, and walked toward the door.

In the hallway, Hilary Donaldson pressed six hundred dollars into my hand.

"Mr. Joyce's table didn't settle their tab for the songs."

I counted the bills and slipped them into my pocket.

Hilary saw the look on my face and handed me a bottle of water.

"Gabi, if you can't hold it together, don't force it."

I twisted off the cap and took a sip.

"I'm fine."

Max came after me. His hand clamped around my wrist.

"You don't need to work in a place like this."

That tone. Lordly. Grating.

I looked down at his hand, locked tight around my wrist.

"Aren't your hospital bills thirty thousand a day? I haven't saved enough yet."

His pupils contracted.

I was too calm. So calm that every line he'd rehearsed fell apart before it left his mouth.

He ground his teeth and forced the words out.

"I'm not sick. You must already know that."

I raised my eyes to his.

"Yeah. I know."

My calm lit something in him. His voice dropped lower, harder.

"Katherine is carrying my child. Either you accept her into our home, or you sign the divorce papers. You have one week."

I drew my wrist out of his grip, slow and light.

"Fine. Let me think about it."

I turned and walked away. Not fast, not slow.

In the back room, changing out of my clothes.

My fingers started to shake.

I shoved both hands into my pockets, balled them into fists to hide the trembling.

I thought of the day I gave Max my grandmother's jade bracelet.

I'd slid it off my wrist and placed it in his palm.

My hands had trembled then, too.

Not because I was heartbroken. Because I was afraid he'd see how much it cost me to let go, and feel guilty.

Later he told me the pawnshop only gave him eighty thousand for it.

Now I knew. Max had given it to the woman carrying his child.

I got home at two in the morning.

I sat on the edge of the bed eating instant noodles, looked down, and saw the silver wedding band stuck on my ring finger at the knuckle. It wouldn't come off.