“But why would he do this? He doesn't want us to get divorced or what? It doesn't make sense,” I frowned.
“It favors him,” the lawyer said. “If you divorce him, you lose your company. If he divorces you, he keeps seventy percent. If you die while married, the company still goes to him.”
My mouth went dry. I felt small, stupid, and trapped.
“I need the divorce papers by tomorrow,” I said. “Find a loophole.”
Before he could answer, my phone rang. It was from the hospital.
“Mrs. Morales, your mother—” the nurse began. “We’re scheduling to remove her corneas.”
I stood so fast I nearly fell. “What? No. Who authorized that?”
The nurse read from a file. “Your husband authorized the procedure, ma’am. You signed consent.”
“I never signed anything!” I said.
I was at the hospital a few minutes later, my heart pounding. My mother was admitted to the hospital three weeks ago after she had a heart attack and collapsed from the top floor. She's been in a coma ever since.
The doctor met me in the corridor with a calm face and a paper in her hand.
“Mrs. Morales, your husband signed. You agreed to donate—” she began.
“Who were those corneas for?” I demanded.