The look in both their eyes changed on the spot.

My mother grabbed my arm with a wide smile. Paige immediately started talking about a custom truck, a luxury spa, a vacation in Miami.

Later that night, in the damp, gloomy room they’d assigned my wife, Gwen finally spoke. She unbuttoned her blouse and showed me a fresh scar from a surgical biopsy.

“I have breast cancer, Gavin,” she whispered. “The doctors found the tumor five months ago.”

She told me how she’d begged my mother for three hundred dollars to see a doctor.

My mother refused, accused her of inventing illnesses to steal my money, and forbade her from breathing a word to me. Paige monitored her calls to keep her quiet.