I came home earlier than expected and found my wife, eight months pregnant, kneeling on the marble floor, weeping uncontrollably as my mother forced her to wash her feet. “This house belongs to my children, not you,” she said. I didn’t respond. I just packed two suitcases, opened the bank statements, and exposed whoever had been draining our money for months.
The first thing I saw was my wife’s swollen hands submerged in a silver basin. The second was my mother’s bare foot resting on Elena’s shoulder as if my eight-month-pregnant wife were a piece of furniture. I had returned from Singapore two days early. My flight landed at dawn, and I wanted to surprise Elena…