He Confined His Eight-Month-Pregnant Wife; He Wept After Divorce

Over a four-thousand-dollar prenatal fee, my husband locked me away. I was eight months pregnant. His voice came through the door, cold. "You spent without applying. That earns a penalty." Ever since he founded the Sprout Foundation to help leukemia patients, he'd poured almost everything he had into it. I was the wife of a trillionaire CEO, and yet groceries, clothes, even a single pad, all of it had to be applied for first, then posted online under my full name for everyone to see. He told me, "I'm the founder. As my wife, you have to stay above suspicion." But the money I got approved was never enough. There was a stretch when I lived on plain bread for three days straight. I cried, I fought, I lost it more than once, and every time friends and family talked me down. "You suffer, but doesn't he suffer right along with you?" "He's using the money for good, and that builds good fortune for you and the baby too. Better than spending it on some mistress." So I swallowed it and told myself life had to go on somehow. Until yesterday, when I found a project file on his computer. That was when I learned the Sprout Foundation was named after Rita Fox, the woman he'd loved and lost to leukemia, the one he'd never let go of. So every hard day I'd endured was just him banking merit in someone else's name. I decided I wouldn't follow his rules anymore. This time, I didn't wait on the application for the prenatal fee. I never imagined he'd lock me in the basement for it. But he forgot something. I wasn't just pregnant. I had severe claustrophobia. ... The dark swallowed everything. My palms went damp, and I pounded on the door, screaming. "Corey, let me out! You know I'm scared of the dark!" Corey Farley looked back at me through the vent, his tone flat. "Scared now? Mercedes Gilbert, when you were throwing money around, why didn't you think about the consequences?" My hands and feet had gone numb. "That was a prenatal checkup. I wasn't throwing money around!" "No application, no public notice. That's throwing money around." I was shaking all over. Every time I applied for the prenatal fee, from the form to the payout, it took at least three weeks. The checkups used to be once a month, and even though the money was always short, I could scrape by borrowing a little from friends. But in the third trimester it became every two weeks, and by the time the money came through, the appointment was long past. Last time the doctor told me again and again that week thirty-two was the last critical assessment before delivery, and it couldn't be put off. So this time I went to Corey and asked him to give me the money early. He didn't even look up. "The application process is transparent and open. I can't interfere." There was nothing left to try, so I opened his computer, thinking I'd find a contact for one of the reviewers. See if I could plead my case. But then I saw that project file, and I understood. It wasn't a slow process. It wasn't strict review. It wasn't him being impartial to a fault. It was simply that the person he couldn't forget had never been me. So I stopped being obedient. I took his card straight out of the drawer and went for the checkup. I'd just paid, hadn't even been seen yet, when he dragged me back and threw me into the basement. I held back the tears, my voice shaking. "Corey, I'm your wife..." He cut me off. "Which is exactly why you have to set an example. This is being responsible to the donors." I braced myself against the wall and closed my eyes, breathing deep to steady the pounding in my chest. "Even if you don't care about me, you should think about the baby I'm carrying." "If I'm upset it affects him, and you know better than anyone how hard this child was to have." Something shifted in Corey's eyes. An accident had once taken his ability to father children. I'd endured the pain of egg retrieval a thousand times over, my belly dotted all over with needle marks. Countless attempts, countless despairs, and only then did we have this child. For eight months I hadn't dared to raise my voice, hadn't dared to walk too fast. Terrified that one wrong move and the baby would be gone. His throat moved, just slightly. "The doctor said the baby's condition is stable. Don't think you can use it to dodge your punishment." "Whenever you come around, whenever you're willing to write a statement and apologize publicly, I'll let you out." He slowly closed the vent. "Corey!" I screamed. "What you're so set on protecting, is it fairness and justice, or is it one particular person?" The footsteps outside paused. "Rein in your imagination and reflect on what you've done." The footsteps faded away. The whole space went quiet. The suffocation rose up in me, my head spinning, the hand on the door growing weaker and weaker, until everything went black and I lost consciousness. When I woke I was lying on the floor, jolted awake by the cramping in my belly. I called out weakly, and I don't know how long it was before the vent opened and Marlene Lambert looked in at my pale face, her voice pained. She passed my phone through. "Ma'am, look at your phone, try to take your mind off it." I curled up in the corner, biting down hard on my lip, my voice pleading. "Can you... let me out? I want to go to the hospital..." She looked away from me and shook her head. "Ma'am, please don't put me in that position." "Mr. Farley locking you up, it isn't only a punishment. He's trying to hide you away too..." My mind went blank. "What do you mean?"