I Sent My Husband to Jail

Three A.M., my daughter Donna Cooper's cries pierced the silence. I rushed into the bedroom, and she was convulsing, her little face turning purple. "Donna!" I held her, my hand on her burning skin, my heart instantly clenching. The thermometer read 40.2℃—a high fever seizure. I grabbed my phone and called Harvey Cooper, my voice shaking: "Come back quick, our daughter needs emergency care!" An impatient yawn came from the other end: "It's not that serious. I've got meetings tomorrow; you take her first." "The hospital wants a 2000 dollars deposit. I didn't bring enough money!" I almost shouted. Harvey was silent for a few seconds, then his voice turned cold: "You're a CEO of a listed company, and you can't even come up with 2000? Stop making excuses." The call was disconnected. I gritted my teeth and used the remaining balance on card to pay the deposit. When my daughter was rushed into the emergency room, I leaned against the wall, my fingers trembling as I checked the bank card balance. For seven years, my annual salary grew from millions to tens of millions, all entrusted to Harvey to manage. But now, all the linked accounts together have only 250.36 dollars. Even that money was transferred out yesterday—the transfer record shows the recipient was Harvey's personal account. My mind went completely blank. Suddenly I remembered a message from the kindergarten teacher yesterday: "Ms. Esperson, Donna didn't bring lunch again today, so I gave her some bread." My heart sank instantly. I sent Harvey 5,000 dollars every month for our daughter's living expenses, telling him to pick the best kindergarten. But he just casually enrolled Donna into a shabby suburban kindergarten with rundown facilities and teachers who changed frequently. Once, I left work early to pick her up and found her sitting in a corner, clutching half a cold steamed bun, with only pickled vegetables in her lunchbox. At the time, Harvey said, "Kids need to go through hardships to learn. A too-good kindergarten would spoil her." I actually believed it. What hit me even harder was that yesterday a friend sent me a photo—Harvey was at a high-end downtown restaurant, buying a custom birthday cake worth 8,888 dollars for a boy. That boy is Harvey's childhood sweetheart, Elle Lepucius's son, Max Lepucius. The emergency room lights went off, and the doctor said our daughter was out of immediate danger but needed to stay hospitalized for observation. Watching my daughter with her pale face in the hospital bed, I wiped away my tears. Harvey Cooper, it's over. I pulled out my phone and called the company's legal director: "Start the divorce proceedings, and also find out where every penny of my assets from the last seven years has gone."