He Put a Price on Love, So I Walked Away

The night my mother was pushed into the ICU, Vincent DeLuca said, "Elena, you only have one request left this year." I had been married into the DeLuca family for seven years, and he had made the rule himself: ten requests a year, ten minutes each. Anything beyond that would be charged at one thousand dollars a minute. When my car broke down on the Brooklyn overpass, I called him. That counted as one. When I had a fever of 102 and could not find where the household medicine was kept, I called him. That counted as one too. But when his female assistant, Claire Vale, moved apartments, fixed her computer, or lost her keys at the nightclub office in the middle of the night, all she had to do was say sweetly, "Mr. Vincent, I messed up again," and he would go to her immediately with his men. I used my last free request to ask him to contact the best cardiac intervention specialist in New York. Then I caught his sleeve and asked, "Can you stay with me for another twenty minutes?" He did not refuse. The next day, Claire brought me a bill for twenty thousand dollars. I took off the matching watch he had given me when we got married, sold it for twenty-five thousand, and transferred the money over. This time, I would never ask him for help again. ... After the twenty thousand dollars was transferred, Claire sent me a payment confirmation. "Miss Rossi, the payment has been verified." "Mr. DeLuca asked me to send you the records for confirmation, so the accounts won't be unclear later." I opened the file. My finger stopped on the screen. On the first page was a summary: [Ten emergency requests have been registered this year. Remaining free requests: zero.] At the end, there was another note: [Recommendation: Madam should improve her ability to handle matters independently and reduce emotionally driven emergency demands.] I stared at that sentence and replied with two words: [Received.] The caregiver messaged me, saying my mother, Rosa, had just had her medication changed and asking me to return to the hospital as soon as possible. I turned off my phone and went to the hospital with my bag. Outside the ICU, the caregiver saw me and handed over a stack of payment notices. "Mr. DeLuca's assistant called and asked the hospital to send daily expense details to the family office email." "She also asked about caregiver fees and follow-up treatment costs." I took the papers. "I understand." The caregiver asked, "Will Mr. DeLuca come tonight?" "He's busy," I said without thinking. When the nurse checked the inpatient account, she asked, "Are you the only family member? The patient may need many documents signed later." I tightened my grip on the payment notices and nodded. The nurse did not ask anything else. She pushed the papers toward me. "Pay this part first. If anything changes, we'll contact you." I went outside the ward to pick up a change of clothes. My mother's coat was draped over a chair. In the pocket was a strip of stomach medicine, with a note pressed underneath. [Vincent has stomach trouble. Take this after meals. Don't let him keep drinking black coffee on an empty stomach.] My mother always said, "Vincent manages such a large family. Don't keep rushing him. If he promised, he will come." The handwriting on the note was unsteady. The caregiver stood beside me and said quietly, "Mrs. Rosa went to the DeLuca family office a few days ago." I looked up. "What did she go there for?" "She said Mr. DeLuca's stomach had acted up before, so she wanted to bring him the medicine." "The men at the door wouldn't let her upstairs. Later, Miss Claire came down and took the medicine." The note in my hand crumpled. "She said Mr. DeLuca has been very busy lately and told Mrs. Rosa not to keep bringing things to the family office." "After hearing that, Mrs. Rosa left. She also told me not to tell you, saying you had already been tired enough taking care of her." I put the stomach medicine and the note into my bag. That night, I went back to the DeLuca house to get clothes. Claire had posted an update. In the photo, Vincent was standing outside a furniture store with shopping bags in his hand. Claire held a table lamp and smiled at the camera. The caption read: [Sir said that when a place is comfortable to live in, people won't overthink.] I turned off my phone screen. The study door was half open. Vincent had the call on speaker, and Claire's timid voice came clearly through the crack. "I live alone in the new apartment. At night, I always feel uneasy." "Mr. Vincent, what if the heating breaks again?" Vincent said, "If the building manager can't handle it, call me. Don't struggle with it yourself." "Wouldn't that trouble you too much?" "You just moved in. There are many things you're unfamiliar with." I stood outside the door and remembered the night my mother was pushed into the ICU, when I asked him whether he could stay with me for twenty minutes. The first thing he asked was how many requests I had left. After Vincent hung up, he came out and reached for my bag. I stepped aside. "I'll carry it myself." His hand stopped. His eyes fell on my wrist. "Where is the watch?" "Sold." "Just to spite me?" I looked at him and, for the first time, did not explain. It was also in that moment that I decided to end this marriage.

I put my bag on the sofa and looked up at him. "I sold it for twenty-five thousand. Twenty thousand settled the bill." Vincent frowned and picked up the tablet on his desk, handing it to me. "It was only a fee. The supplementary card was for you to handle household expenses, not for you to force yourself to be stubborn." I glanced at the new schedule he handed me. My mother's hospitalization, follow-up appointments, and communication with caregivers had all been listed as separate items. After each item, it said: [Compiled by Claire. Confirmed by Vincent.] "From now on, Mrs. Rosa's hospital information will be sent to Claire first." His tone was calm. "Why?" "She is responsible for compiling it." "I am the patient's daughter." "Which is why you should avoid handling it emotionally." Not only would he not accompany me, he was giving control over my mother's treatment to his female assistant. "She is more objective than you." Vincent continued, "You haven't worked in too long. Now, whenever something happens, you don't know how to handle it." Seven years ago, I worked as a coordinator at the patient service center of St. Mary's Hospital. The hospital had tried to keep me. They had offered me a promotion. But one night, just after I got off work, my phone rang again. I had to go back to handle a transfer. Vincent sat waiting for me at the dining table. He said, "Every day you clean up other people's messes, and even when you come home you still have to answer calls." I asked him what I should do about my job. He ladled soup into a bowl for me. "You don't have to carry everyone else's burdens. I will take care of you and your mother." I believed him. Later, I resigned, moved into this house, and began taking care of his life. I missed my promotion. I missed the chance to renew my professional license. I thought I was enjoying marriage, but in truth, I was handing over my life bit by bit. After that, even asking where the household medicine was kept had to be counted as one request. My phone chimed. The attending doctor messaged me, saying the hospital had contacted a cardiac intervention specialist and that there would be a consultation the next afternoon. I forwarded the message to Vincent. "Didn't you require the hospital to send my mother's condition and consultation schedule to the family office?" He glanced at his phone. "Claire compiled it. The specialist consultation is tomorrow at three in the afternoon." "Will you go?" I asked. "I have an important meeting tomorrow afternoon. I'll go after it ends." I looked up at him. "The doctor is not waiting for you." "Then you listen first. I'll go after I'm done." I took the divorce agreement out of my bag and placed it in front of him. "Then look at this first." Vincent did not open it. He glanced at the cover and pushed it to the corner of the table. "Your mother is still in the ICU. It is irrational to talk about divorce now." "I am very rational." "Selling the watch, refusing the supplementary card, suddenly saying you don't need me. None of that is rational." "We can talk after Mrs. Rosa's condition stabilizes." Only when he pushed the divorce agreement away did I understand that even my decision to leave was something he wanted to judge for me. Vincent pushed the agreement back in front of me, stood up, and buttoned his suit jacket. "The driver will take you to the hospital tomorrow. I have a call from Chicago. Sleep early." He closed the door and left. I looked at the untouched agreement on the corner of the table and turned off every light in the room.

At two-thirty the next afternoon, the car did not drive toward the hospital. Instead, it stopped in front of a private hotel in Manhattan. I looked toward the front seat. "Did we go the wrong way?" When I tried to open the door, it would not open. The driver looked troubled. "Miss Rossi, sir said old Mr. Bellini suddenly fell ill. No one on site understands hospital procedure, so he asked you to go up and take a look." I gripped my bag strap. "My mother has a consultation at three. The hospital told me to arrive fifteen minutes early." "Sir knows. He said it will only take ten minutes, and after it ends, I'll take you to the hospital immediately." A few minutes later, Claire ran out. "Sister-in-law, I'm sorry. I really don't know what to do." "Sir said you used to do patient coordination and asked you to help me for ten minutes." There were several people standing in the hotel banquet hall. Vincent was speaking to Marco Bellini. Beside them, a woman was supporting an old man. The old man clutched his chest, and his family stood nearby crying incoherently. In that moment, I saw myself from seven years ago. I had also once stood at the emergency room entrance like this, clutching a stack of examination forms, not knowing whom to ask or what to do next. I turned to leave. Claire explained, "This is Mr. Bellini's father. He suddenly felt unwell during the meeting just now. The ambulance has already been called." "Mrs. Bellini kept asking what to do at the hospital. I couldn't answer anything." Vincent walked up to me. "You used to do this. Help me for ten minutes." I looked at him. "My mother is seeing a specialist this afternoon too." "I know." He paused. "Settle the Bellini family first. I'll go over after I finish here." "Vincent, I am no longer hospital staff." "I'm not asking you to take responsibility. Just help explain the process." Listening to the old man's family ask when the doctor would arrive, I still could not turn away. After the ambulance arrived, I accompanied them to the emergency room. I helped complete the medical history and contacted triage and patient companion services. Mrs. Bellini's hands were shaking. She asked whether the old man was in danger. I told her, "The doctor will examine him first. Tell them clearly what medication he has taken and what surgeries he has had. Don't panic." She grabbed my hand and thanked me. "Do you work for the hospital?" Before I could answer, Vincent hurried over. "She used to do this kind of work. She's used to it." Used to it. I looked at Vincent once, then turned and left. Claire hooked her arm around Vincent's. "Thank goodness for sister-in-law. Otherwise I really wouldn't have known what to do today. The Bellinis are so important; I couldn't afford to offend them." Vincent lightly patted her shoulder. "When something happens, find someone who can solve it first. Don't panic by yourself." I looked down at my phone. The attending doctor had called me three times. When I reached cardiology, the consultation had already started. The doctor saw me come in and handed me the informed consent form. "Miss Rossi, the patient's heart rhythm has become unstable again." "Interventional treatment carries considerable risk, but delaying further is even more dangerous." "You are the primary family member. You need to decide as soon as possible." "Vincent is coming soon. Can he listen too?" The doctor nodded. "Yes, but it must be quick." I walked out of the consultation room and called Vincent. He picked up quickly. "The Bellinis are still at the hospital. I have to stay with Marco to finish handling what comes next." "You listen to the doctor first. I'll come after I'm done." Holding the phone, I asked him, "My mother's condition and your business. Which is more urgent?" The other end of the line was silent for a moment. Vincent's voice lowered. "The medical plan won't change just because I'm there." "But if the Bellinis turn against us, many people in the family will be affected." "Elena, you used to do this work. You should understand priorities." The consultation room door opened. The doctor came out, looking grave. "Miss Rossi, the patient already had severe arrhythmia, and just now there was a new abnormality. The treatment plan must be decided in advance."