Chapter 1My Husband Chose His Brother Over My Dying Father

“Six thousand.”

I stood in the living room, gripping my father’s hospital admission form. Aaron sat on the sofa, not even looking up.

“Your dad’s surgery? Just wait a bit longer.”

“Wait for what?”

“Mark is twelve thousand short on his renovation payment, due by the end of the month. Have your dad try conservative treatment first, then in a couple of months, we can—”

“A couple of months?” I stared at him. “The doctor said we can’t delay it anymore.”

He finally looked up at me. “Mina, Mark is my brother.”

I opened my mouth, but the next words he spoke made the admission form drop from my hand.

“Your dad isn’t without family. Have your brother pay for half of it.”

I don’t have a brother. He’d been married for eight years and didn’t know I was an only child.

* * *

The admission form lay on the floor. I stared at the paper. Aaron had already looked down again, scrolling through his phone.

“You… what did you say?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look up. “Have your brother—”

“I don’t have a brother.”

His finger paused. “Huh?” He looked up at me, his eyes filled not with guilt, but with confusion, as if I’d said something utterly trivial.

“Oh,” he scratched his head. “Well, then… have your dad just use his health insurance for now. Insurance covers a lot.”

I stood my ground. Eight years. This man didn't know I was an only child. He didn't know my parents only had me. He didn't know I only went home to one family every Christmas. He didn't know I had no brother. He knew nothing.

But he knew his brother was twelve thousand short on renovations.

“Aaron Davies.” I used his full name. He finally sensed my distress, putting down his phone to look at me. “You don’t even know I’m an only child?”

He opened his mouth. “Well…”

“Eight years of marriage,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You know your brother’s monthly mortgage payment, you know his car needs maintenance, you know his wife wants a new phone—and you don’t know I don’t have a brother?”

The living room was silent. He stared at me for three seconds. Then he said, “Alright, alright, I made a mistake. As for your dad, you’ll have to figure something out. I really can’t spare anything right now.” With that, he picked up his phone and walked into the bedroom.

I stood in the living room. The admission form was still on the floor. He had stepped over it. He hadn’t seen it. Or he’d seen it and hadn’t bothered to bend down.

I bent down to pick it up. There was a footprint on the paper. The footprint was right over the words "Surgery Date." I stared at that footprint for a long time. A very long time.

Then I folded the admission form, put it in my bag, and opened my mobile banking app. My balance: 4,271.68. This was everything I had.

Eight years. All I had left was four thousand two hundred. His brother needed twelve thousand for renovations, and he didn’t bat an eye. My dad needed six thousand for surgery, and he told me to “figure something out.”

I closed my phone and stood in the living room. It was already dark outside. The living room lights weren't on. I didn't turn them on either.