My Billionaire Wife's $200 Allowance Killed Our Daughter

Anna lay in the hospital bed, her small face as white as a sheet.

"Mommy, it hurts..."

I dropped to my knees in front of Mia, pleading with everything I had, but she just shoved my hand away.

"Don't touch me! That child isn't even mine!"

The red light above the operating room door flickered off. The doctor stepped out, pulling down his mask with a weary shake of his head.

I cradled Anna's tiny, lifeless body, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Julian, Mia's first love, lit up the screen: "Thanks for the mansion. Wedding invitations are going out soon."

I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and dialed a number I hadn't called in years.

"It's time. Start the plan."

Instantly, my phone chimed again. A bank notification—one billion dollars, deposited into my account. Another message followed.

"Welcome home, Young Master."

I'm married to a billionaire CEO.

But my monthly allowance is two hundred dollars.

I couldn't even buy my daughter a cupcake without my wife's permission.

She always said she didn't want our girl growing up spoiled.

But when her old flame Julian came back to town? She dropped millions on a luxury estate without a second thought.

The day our daughter had a heart attack, I begged Mia outside her corporate office to help save her.

She had security throw me out onto the sidewalk.

"Stop the act. You just want more money, don't you?"

By the time the operating room doors opened again…

Our little girl was gone.

I held her as she grew cold in my arms.

Meanwhile, Mia texted me a photo of herself with Julian, smiling on a private jet.

"We can take her to the amusement park next month."

She didn't get it.

There wouldn't be a next month.

Mia Winthrop swept through the front door, smelling like sea salt and expensive perfume.

Her suitcase wheels clicked cheerfully against the marble floor.

"Liam Evans, come help me with my bags."

She called out like she always did, her voice still lazy from her trip.

I stayed on my knees in the living room, carefully folding our daughter's clothes—one by one.

Just the way she liked them when she was still here.

When I didn't answer, Mia walked over in her sharp heels.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

She leaned down, saw what I was holding, and let out a light laugh.

"Is that Anna's old stuff? Why are you digging through that?"

Of course she didn't remember.

Last week was our daughter's seventh birthday.

Mia had promised her a new dress.

Instead, she flew to Iceland with Julian Valentine to see the Northern Lights.

I kept folding the little strawberry-print pajamas.

The sleeves were worn thin.

They were our daughter's favorite.

Mia sighed when I didn't answer and plopped down on the sofa.

"You're still in a mood?"

She shook her phone at me.

"Julian just sent this—want to come diving with us?"

In the picture, they were wearing matching wetsuits, grinning on some beach in the Maldives.

The last photo I had of our daughter was her in a hospital bed, a breathing tube taped to her mouth.

Julian's voice floated in from the doorway.

"Mia, my back's killing me."

He leaned against the doorframe, putting on a perfectly pained expression.

Mia jumped up to support him.

"Is it your old injury again?"

She shot me a look.

"Liam, get Julian some water."

I didn't move.

On the counter was our daughter's cartoon cup—the last one she ever used.

She'd been so thirsty, but whispered, "Just half a cup, please?"

Because Mia had told her wasting water will make you ugly.

Julian strolled into the kitchen and poured his own glass.

The new Patek Philippe on his wrist glinted under the lights.

A limited edition. Mia had it flown in from Switzerland last week.

"Don't worry about me, Liam," he said, sipping his water with a gentle smile. "Mia just fusses too much."

Mia was already digging through the medicine cabinet.

"You took a knife for me, Julian. We can't be careless with your back."

She handed him a pain patch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As if she were the lady of the house.

And I was just… background noise.

When Julian took the patch, his fingers lingered on her hand.

"After all these years, you still remember."

Mia laughed. "Of course I do. You've always been the one who treated me best."

She'd forgotten completely.

Last year, I ended up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach after drinking myself sick for one of her business deals.

She was in Paris with Julian—shopping for engagement rings.

It never happened, of course.

Julian said he wasn't ready to "settle down."

Mia finally noticed I still hadn't spoken.

She walked over and patted my shoulder.

"Hey. Don't give me the silent treatment."

Her phone pinged.