My Husband Made Me Draw Mystery Bags to Support My Daughter, So I Married the Sicilian Don

On the third day after my daughter was born, I asked my husband, Don Lucas Ferrara, for money to buy formula. He tossed a pile of mystery bags at me. “Pick one.” For three years of marriage, my living expenses had always been decided by those bags. Whatever amount I drew was what I got. The most I had ever drawn was thirteen dollars. It all went back to the day of our engagement. The Ferrara family had agreed to pay my family, the Rossis, a sum of money to seal the alliance. But my father suddenly brought out a row of mystery bags and said with a smile, “Let’s skip all that empty ceremony. Let Lucas draw. Whatever he gets, that’s what he pays.” I froze on the spot. I never expected Lucas to draw $3.8 million. He paid every penny. He even gave me a wedding that had the whole city talking. Family bosses whose names alone made people tremble kissed his ring, then bowed their heads to me in greeting. Everyone said he loved me to death. But the day after the wedding, he threw an entire box of mystery bags in front of me. “At the engagement, weren’t you the one who had your father use mystery bags to squeeze money out of me? From now on, your living expenses will be decided by mystery bags.” For the past three years, my monthly allowance had sometimes been two dollars. Sometimes thirteen. After I got pregnant, I thought things would change once the baby was born. But now, all I wanted was to buy a can of formula for my daughter. As usual, the mystery bags were placed in front of me. Inside was still two dollars. The next second, my younger sister, Sophia Rossi, who had also just given birth, posted an update. It was a screenshot of a one-million-dollar transfer. “Thank you, Lucas, for the baby’s welcome gift.” I stared at that picture for a long time. Then I called Salvatore De Luca. “Didn’t you once say you were willing to be my child’s father?” “Come get me in seven days.” * * * When I opened the mystery bag, the nurse leaned over curiously. “Wow, a gift from Don Ferrara? That’s so thoughtful.” She looked at the pile of bags with envy. Then she saw the slip of paper inside. Two dollars for living expenses. Suddenly, everything went quiet. Lucas expressionlessly ordered his second-in-command to take the rest of the bags away. His voice was cold. “Rules don’t change just because she had a baby.” The nurse opened her mouth, her expression turning strange. She probably wanted to ask what kind of rule made a woman who had just given birth draw a mystery bag for two dollars. But how was I supposed to explain? Explain that, to get more money and help Sophia marry into a more powerful family as I had, my parents had gone behind my back on the day of my engagement, sharply increased the agreed payment for the alliance, and hidden the amount in those mystery bags. Explain that when I confronted them, my mother only said, “If you dare tell Lucas, this family is finished.” Explain that Lucas had long since put out the word that no one was allowed to hire me. And from then on, I never found another job. My living expenses depended entirely on those mystery bags. I lowered my head and looked at my daughter beside me. She slept peacefully, her little face scrunched up. “Lucas, can I buy a temperature-regulating sleep sack? Newborns can’t regulate their body temperature very well…” “You want to use the baby to ask for money?” he cut me off. “The hospital has blankets.” The door closed. His leather shoes clicked down the hallway, each step farther away. The nurse suddenly turned and left. A while later, she came back holding a small blanket. “It’s a spare from the nurses’ station. It’s clean. You can wrap the baby in it for now.” She carefully wrapped the blanket around my daughter. A stranger cared more about her than her own father did. I thanked her. That night, I saw Sophia’s update. A VIP nursery. A custom crib. A full set of designer baby supplies. The caption read, “He said nothing for the baby should ever be second best.” Under it was a row of likes. Lucas. My mother. My father. They were all there. I stared at the words second best for a long time. Then I suddenly remembered something Lucas had said years ago. “If we ever have a daughter, I’ll spoil her and make her the happiest little princess in the world.” Back then, there had been light in his eyes. Now that light seemed to be shining on someone else’s child. I folded the slip marked “$2” and tucked it into my wallet. Inside was last month’s slip marked “$3.” And the one marked “$4” from the month before. Lucas was standing in the doorway. I didn’t know when he had come back. He saw me folding the slips and paused. In the end, he only said, “Take care of the baby. Stop trying to squeeze money out of me.” Out in the hallway, he made a phone call. Through the door, I heard him clearly. “You lost. She didn’t make a scene.” He laughed once. “She would never give up being Mrs. Ferrara. Especially now that she’s had a child.” I leaned against the headboard and closed my eyes. My phone rang. After a second of silence, the voice on the other end said, “The ticket is booked. Seven days from now, I’ll come get you.” I said nothing. Then he said, “Elena, wait for me.” I looked at my daughter beside me. She was still sleeping, her tiny hand wrapped tightly around my finger. “Okay.”

On the day I was discharged, I packed early. My daughter wore the only new outfit she had. It was a gift from my good friend, Clara Moretti. I held her and sat by the bed, waiting for Lucas. In the end, all I got was a text. “The driver will pick you up. I’m with Sophia. She’s being discharged today too, and no one is there to help her.” It was unreasonable. And yet entirely predictable. Ever since Sophia became a widow, he had helped with plenty of things like this. I stared at the screen for a few seconds. Then I closed the conversation without replying. The driver arrived on time. The car was spotless. My daughter fussed in my arms. It was time to feed her. I took out the bottle. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, looking troubled. “Ma’am, I’m sorry… the Don said no food in the car.” I froze. “I’m only feeding her milk. I won’t make a mess.” “But the Don said… Please don’t make this hard for us, ma’am.” I stopped. Then I put the bottle back in the bag and held my daughter a little tighter. She cried from hunger. I patted her back softly the whole way home. When I got home, I checked my phone and saw that Sophia had posted a short video. She was sitting in Lucas’s passenger seat with a box of macarons in front of her, popping them into her mouth one by one. Crumbs fell all over the seat. Lucas was at the wheel, casting indulgent glances her way every now and then. My parents sat in the back. My mother was holding a bottle to feed Sophia’s baby, while my father held a little towel under the baby’s chin, smiling so wide his eyes nearly disappeared. They looked like a complete family. I swiped the video away. That afternoon, the doorbell rang. Sophia stood outside, holding her baby. He was well-fed and healthy. She leaned in to glance at the crib in my living room, then covered her mouth and laughed softly. “Elena, this crib… why is it so old? Isn’t Lucas rich?” I didn’t answer. She took a bag from her purse and handed it to me. “These are clothes my baby’s outgrown. I hope you don’t mind the hand-me-downs, Elena. The fabric is really nice.” “Lucas bought them. Each piece was several thousand dollars.” She lowered her gaze to my daughter. Her smile didn’t change. “Elena, why is yours so skinny?” I took the bag and forced out a thank-you. Then I shut the door and threw the bag into the trash. That night, Clara called me. “I saw Sophia’s video. I’m so pissed. She did that on purpose. And Lucas—Elena, you hemorrhaged while giving birth. How could he treat you like this?” “Don’t suffer in silence. If the baby needs anything, tell me. I’ll buy it.” “Thank you, Clara.” “Don’t thank me. You come first with me.” I felt the sting of tears. At least one person was still on my side. After hanging up, I started packing. A few pieces of clothing for me and my daughter. Identification documents. One small bag. I shoved them deep into the closet. I didn’t know when Lucas came back. He leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching me. Then he let out a low laugh. “If you want money for clothes, just ask. Stop trying to make me feel sorry for you.” I didn’t turn around. He walked over and suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. The sharp smell of alcohol hit my nose. His voice was very soft. “Elena, stop making trouble.” For one second, I was dazed. Years ago, he had held me like this too. That day, I’d been caught in the rain and developed a high fever. He’d driven all night to get back to me from out of town. He wrapped me in his arms and said, “Don’t ever wait alone for the rain to stop again.” Now that same warm embrace came only because he was drunk. The man who once drove all night to come back for me couldn’t even show up when our baby and I were discharged. I gently removed his hand. “I’m not making trouble.” At three in the morning, my daughter cried. I picked her up and fed her. She sucked a few times, then cried again. I didn’t have enough milk. I searched every cabinet. There was no formula. I checked my phone. Account balance: $2. Three ten. Three thirty. Four. She kept crying. I paced around the living room with her in my arms, circling it again and again. Lucas slept deeply behind the closed master bedroom door. I lowered my head and kissed my daughter’s forehead. “Baby, I’m sorry.” “Wait a few more days. Mommy will take you away.”

The next day, my daughter’s fever climbed to 103.6°F. I rushed into the ER with her in my arms. Registration. Waiting in line. My whole body was shaking. The doctor took off his stethoscope and frowned. “The baby is malnourished and severely underweight. Her immune system is very weak.” He looked up at me, his tone stern. “A newborn in this condition is in serious danger. What have you two been doing?” I opened my mouth. No words came out. What had we been doing? Together, my daughter and I lived on two dollars a month. I called Lucas. He actually came. Hope rose in my chest. For the first time in three years of marriage, I begged him. “She needs special formula and nutritional supplements. Can we stop drawing mystery bags? Can you just give me a normal allowance?” He looked at me for a few seconds. Then he took a card from his pocket and tossed it over. “There’s two thousand on it. That’s enough.” “It’s not enough. The doctor said follow-up tests and—” His voice suddenly went cold. “Elena, did you already burn through the $3.8 million? Now two thousand isn’t enough either?” “When you set up that row of mystery bags to trap me, did you ever think this day would come?” “I didn’t set up those mystery bags!” For my daughter’s sake, I finally raised my voice. “My parents did it behind my back. They wanted Sophia to marry into a better family. It had nothing to do with me!” Lucas froze for a second. Then he laughed. “Elena, you’ll tell any lie for money.” “First you lie about the baby being sick. Now you’re making up stories.” He looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust. “You had a baby and now you think you can negotiate with me? You know perfectly well whether that child is really sick!” Then his phone rang. The name on the screen was Sophia. He answered, and his tone immediately softened. “You’re here? Which exam room? I’ll be right there.” After hanging up, he didn’t even look at me before turning away. So he hadn’t come to the hospital for me or our daughter at all. He was here to accompany Sophia’s baby for a checkup. I stood in the hallway, holding my baby as she wailed at the top of her lungs, and watched his back disappear around the corner. At the hospital entrance. “Elena.” Sophia’s voice came from behind me. The baby in her arms had a round, healthy face. He wore a Burberry onesie. She glanced at my daughter, thin and sallow in my arms. Something flashed through her eyes. Then she took a can of formula from the nanny’s diaper bag and handed it to me. “My baby can’t finish all of this. Take it.” “Lucas felt sorry for us—a widow and her fatherless baby. He bought a whole year’s supply.” I looked at the can. One hundred and eighty dollars each. My daughter’s entire monthly allowance couldn’t even cover one scoop of her child’s formula. I clenched my fist and accepted her charity. That night, I called my mother. “Mom, the baby needs to be admitted to the hospital. Could you lend me some money for now?” The other end was silent for a few seconds. “Sophia just gave birth too. She needs money as well. Go ask Lucas.” “Mom…” “Enough. Stop calling all the time. Sophia needs rest. Don’t bother her.” Then she hung up. Late that night, I fell asleep on the sofa with my daughter in my arms. At some point, a blanket appeared over me. Half-awake, I saw Lucas bend down, moving gently, as though afraid to wake anyone. But the next morning, a new row of mystery bags sat on the dining table. He sat across from me, drinking coffee, and lifted his chin toward them. “Pick.” I looked at the bags, and suddenly the whole thing felt utterly pointless. “Lucas, I’m tired. I won’t draw anymore.” His hand paused around his cup. Then he looked up, his gaze sharp and assessing. “What new trick did you come up with to ask for money? Last time you said the baby was sick. What’s the act this time?” I didn’t answer. I turned away to make my daughter a bottle with the formula I’d accepted as charity from Sophia. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and glanced at it. Clara had sent a message. “Elena, there’s something I don’t know if I should tell you…” Clara was still typing her next message. In the living room, my daughter started crying again. The number on the thermometer jumped. 104.2°F. I switched off the screen, picked up my baby, and rushed out the door.