My daughter was fifteen when she finally looked at me and whispered, “I stopped telling Dad when it hurts. He says I’m just doing it for attention.” The next afternoon, I signed her out of school and took her to the hospital without telling my husband.

"Chloe!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, rushing into the tiny bathroom attached to the hospital room.

It was completely empty, with nothing but a folded white towel sitting on the counter.

I ran back out into the hallway, grabbing the nearest passing nurse by the shoulder.

"Where is my daughter? She was just in room 412!" I demanded frantically.

The nurse looked startled and checked the digital tablet in her hands.

"The young girl in the gray hoodie? I just saw her walking toward the east stairwell about two minutes ago," the nurse replied.

I didn't wait to hear another word before sprinting down the corridor toward the heavy fire doors.

I pushed the heavy metal doors open and practically flew down the concrete stairs.

I found Chloe huddled on the landing of the second floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, weeping uncontrollably.

I fell to my knees beside her and pulled her into a desperate embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Mom, but I have to leave," she sobbed, burying her face in my shoulder.

"He texted me while you were gone."

She held up her cracked smartphone with trembling fingers, showing me a text message from Mark.

The message read: "Get out of that hospital right now, or I will cancel your mother's health insurance and ensure she goes bankrupt paying for this."

Bile rose in my throat as I read the manipulative, disgusting words.

"He can't do that, sweetie, I promise you he can't," I reassured her, stroking her hair.

"We are going back upstairs, and we are getting you the surgery you need."

I helped her stand up, my mind racing with a million logistical nightmares.

I needed to secure my finances immediately before Mark tried any more manipulative tactics.

I pulled out my phone and opened my mobile banking app to transfer my half of our joint savings into a private account.

The loading circle spun for a few agonizing seconds before the screen refreshed.

I stared at the numbers in absolute disbelief, blinking rapidly to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me.

The available balance in our joint checking account was exactly zero dollars.

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Our savings account, which held the emergency fund I had built over ten years, was also completely empty.

Mark had just wire-transferred every single penny we owned to an offshore account.

Chapter 3 - The Empty Account