My Husband Told Our Daughter to Keep Her Clinic Visits Hidden From Our Bank Account

I walked past the waiting area and pushed through the double doors toward the surgical prep unit, leaving him standing there with his foam cup.

The prep room was noisy with alarms and paging announcements.

I found Hannah sitting on the edge of a narrow bed in a yellow hospital gown pulled on over her clothes.

She was shivering.

I took a warm blanket from the warming cabinet in the hall and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders.

“Is he mad at me?” Hannah asked quietly.

“He isn’t mad at you,” I said.