A loud commotion erupted in the master bedroom. My wife was unusually aggressive, accusing me of becoming too close to the househelp.
The accusation was ironic, considering that her own carelessness had left Ashley seriously ill. She tried to deny it, but I could no longer bring myself to listen. She seemed to have changed so much that the woman I once knew felt like a stranger.
I slammed the door and went outside to breathe some fresh air.
Suddenly, Maria appeared. She was calm and composed, offering me words of encouragement and expressing her sympathy. She told me that she was willing to do anything to help.
Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly kissed her. The moment I came to my senses, I pushed her away.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I am a married man. I cannot betray my wife."
She did not appear offended or saddened. Instead, she quietly returned to her room to get ready. It was already evening, and she had to go and collect the children from school.
I went back into the house and headed straight for the refrigerator. I took out a cold Montana drink, hoping it would help ease the pressure building inside me.
My wife emerged from the bedroom and looked at me.
"You have changed," she said. "Sometimes, I wish I had never married you, even though I love you so much."
She walked away and slammed the door.
I stood there, feeling as though my life had reached its breaking point. Nothing seemed capable of bringing me happiness anymore. I remembered something my father had always said: It is better to be poor than to be rich and sad.
Then, during that miserable moment, the detective called.
"I have news," he said. "We need to meet."
I took two bodyguards and drove directly to meet him. But before I could reach our destination, another call came through.
The number was hidden. There was no caller ID—only a name.
"Hey, bro," the anonymous caller said. "How have you been? I know what you have been doing, and I know where you are going."
My heart began to pound.
"I have your wife and children," he continued. "If you do not come, I will blow their heads off. And remember, do not try to call the police, or you will find them dead."
I remained silent, struggling to understand what was happening.
"Oh, and before I end this call," he added, "I also caught this treacherous bitch of your maid—a traitor."
Then he disconnected.
I stared at the phone, my mind racing. Everything had become far more complicated than I could have imagined.
Finally, the blood disaster had risen again.