My Husband Made Me Pay Him Back $300 for Life-Saving Medication During My Complicated Labor…

splitting a bill that had nothing to do with me.” The room went thin and cold. I looked at Asher. Three days old, one fist tucked under his chin. “Don’t make a face.” Advertisement “Say his name,” I said. Marcus blinked. “What?” “Say our son’s name. Then tell me my body had nothing to do with you.” His jaw tightened. “Peyton, don’t twist this.” “I’m lying in the hospital where I almost died making you a father, Marcus.” “We are not arguing in a hospital.” “No,” I said. “But you’re billing me in one.” That’s when I saw Eleanor standing in the doorway. “We are not arguing in a hospital.” Advertisement *** Eleanor spoke before I could answer Marcus. “What’s going on?” she asked. Marcus turned so fast that the chair scraped the floor. “Mom, this is private.” “Private?” she said softly. “I just watched you hand your wife a receipt while she’s holding your newborn son.” Eleanor looked at me first and smiled gently. Then she walked in, bent down, and kissed my forehead. “Rest, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ll handle Marcus myself.” “Mom, this is private.” Advertisement She took the receipt from the tray table. Marcus frowned. “Mom, give that back.” “No,” she said, folding it carefully. “You gave it to Peyton. Now it’s been received.” He stared at her. “What does that mean?” “It means some lessons come with proof.” She slipped the receipt into her purse and said nothing else. That scared him more than yelling would have. “What does that mean?” Advertisement *** The drive home was quiet except for Asher’s soft little snorts from the back seat. “You made that weird,” he said. I turned my head. “I made it weird?” “You know what I meant. I just wanted the account balanced.” “The account?” He sighed. “Peyton, don’t start.” “No. Say it again. Say the woman who almost bled out giving birth to your child is nothing but an account.” “You made that weird.” Advertisement His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Then how did you mean it?” He opened his mouth, then shut it. *** That first night home, Asher cried every ninety minutes. I fed him, changed him, and cried once in the bathroom with the fan on. Marcus slept through the second feeding. At 4:12 a.m., I stood over his side of the bed with Asher against my chest. “Wake up.” He opened one eye. “What?” “Your son needs a clean diaper, Marcus.”