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Her face had gone still.
“Why would she refuse?” I asked.
“Because she was afraid the doctor would ask questions.”
“What questions?”
My mother’s answer came carefully.
“About the money she has been sending out of the country.”
I stared at Maya.
She looked away.
My mother continued.
“She has her own secrets, David. Before you destroy this family, perhaps you should find out who your wife has been paying every month.”
Then the call ended.
For several seconds, neither Maya nor I spoke.
The machines beside her bed continued their soft electronic rhythm.
Finally, I asked, “Is that true?”
Maya’s eyes remained fixed on the blanket.
“Yes.”
The single word altered the air between us.
“Who have you been sending money to?”
“My mother.”
I knew almost nothing about Maya’s mother.
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