Betrayed

“Mrs. Carter, I’m sorry to inform you that your card has been declined,” the young pharmacist looks at me with pitiful eyes. 

               “Interesting, I will look into that.  Please use this one,” I calmly say, handing her another card.  I’ll sort this all out with the bank later; right now, my daughter needs this medicine to treat her flu symptoms.  The pharmacist takes the card I handed her and swipes it.

               “All set,” she hands my card back with a receipt and a smile before handing me the medicine.  I thanked her, then left.  I climb into the back seat of the waiting car, wondering what could be going on with that bank account.

               My husband, Lincoln Carter, and I agreed we’d put some of our money into a joint bank account solely to care for our daughter, Freya.  Both of us come from money and run successful businesses.  I have never encountered an issue with this bank card in 6 years since Freya was born, until today.  I know there is no way it has insufficient funds, for I make sure more than enough money is transferred into this account from my own each month. 

               I take out my phone and call my bank.  “Lockford Trust, how can I direct your call?”  A lady’s voice answers.

               “This is Valerie Russo Carter. I’d like to speak to your president.”

               “One moment, please.” She puts the line on hold.  I know as soon as the president of the bank hears who it is, he will not hesitate to answer his phone.

               “Miss Russo, how can I help you today?” the man’s voice asked. 

               “There appears to be an issue with one of my accounts.  I tried to buy some flu medication, and the card was declined.  I would like you to personally look into it,” I explained.  I gave him the account number and waited for him to find the answer.

               “It appears Mr. Carter has put a spending limit of $200 a day on this card.”

               “Seriously?  When did this happen?  And does that limit apply to the autopayments for her school?”

               “Ma’am, according to our records, the change was made two months ago.  The autopayments are not affected,” The bank president explains.  “I can remove the spending limit from your card.”

               “No, please mail me a printout of the account summaries for the past year.  Along with summaries from all other accounts that I share jointly with Lincoln Carter.”  I don’t know what my husband is playing at, but I will find out, and he will learn that I am not a woman to mess with.

               “I will expedite it to you in the hour.”

               “Thank you.”  I hang up the phone and dial Lincoln’s number.

               “Lincoln Carter’s phone. This is Iris. How can I help you?” A woman’s sickly sweet voice answers.  Never in my life has another woman answered my husband’s phone.

               “Why are you answering my husband’s phone?” I ask, trying to stay calm. 

               “Mr. Carter is busy with an important meeting and asked to not be disturbed.  I will have him call you as soon as he’s free,” Iris says calmly. 

               “Very well.”  I hang up and call my eldest brother, Hudson Russo.

               “Hey there, little sister, how’s our princess doing?”  Hudson answers his phone.

               “She has influenza A and B.  Poor kid’s been so ill.  I sent her home from the doctor’s office with Harold while I went to the pharmacy to get her medicine.  I’m on my way home.”

               “Uncle Hudson will send her a get-well present.”

               “You spoil her too much,” I state. 

               “She’s currently the only Russo heir.  If we don’t spoil our princess, who else will?”

               “Thank you, brother.  She will be pleased when it arrives.”  I hang up the phone and look out the window.  Very few people know who I’m related to.  I’m not entirely sure Lincoln remembers, as he only met them once before the wedding.  Three years ago, my grandfather died, and I asked Lincoln to fly home with me to pay his respects.  His business was in the middle of a massive merger, and he couldn’t leave the country.  I didn’t argue; Freya and I went, and she was doted on by all the people she spent three years talking to on the phone. 

               When the car pulls up to the front steps of my house, I climb out and walk straight to my daughter’s room, where she lies coughing and looking pale with a bowl beside her to catch the vomit.  The soup Mrs. White made her is still sitting on the bedside table untouched.  “Momma,” Freya’s eyes well with tears as I enter her room.  Her round little face is red from the fever, her green eyes look glassy with this illness, and her sandy blonde hair is matted to her head with sweat. 

               I rush to her bedside, sitting on the edge to rub her face.  “It’s okay, baby.  I brought you your medicine,” I tell her soothingly.  I open the bag, pull out the medicine, and measure out the proper dosage for her before helping her take it.  I cannot bear to see my daughter ill.  It’s been four years since she was this ill.  Four years ago, she was hospitalized with appendicitis.  I was a wreck, but she needed me to stay strong. 

               “Is Daddy coming home?”

               “He was in a meeting when I called him on my way home, but I’m sure he’ll be home for dinner,” I assure her.  I quickly text Lincoln, letting him know what the doctor’s diagnosed Freya with, and added that she’s asking for him.  With Lincoln, my requests are hit-or-miss, but with Freya, he’s pretty good at keeping up with her requests.  His relationship with Freya is why I keep making this relationship work.  I have clear boundaries, and when I set them, Lincoln agreed to each one and has respected most of them.  He’s made sure nothing could make a scandal on his end, and I’ve done the same.  I know his company has always come first, and I’ve never objected, as mine did as well, until Freya came.

               My one and only rule for Lincoln after Freya was born is to always be present for her.  If he is traveling for work, he is required to call her a minimum of two times a day.  I can handle a transactional marriage, but a child cannot and should not be expected to.  He understood and has been moderately successful in his duties as her father.

               “How about we call Grandpa while we wait for Daddy to come home?” I suggested.  “I already spoke to Uncle Hudson; he says he’s sending you a get-well present soon.”

               “He is?”

               “Yes, and I know Uncle Gideon is scheduled to land at the airport tomorrow morning.  I’m sure he’s going to come visit you,” I tell her.

               “I don’t want to get him sick,” she pouted.  “I know he’s busy like Daddy is.”

               “Your uncles are not worried about getting sick.  Besides, Gideon has been in Europe for two months now for work; he’s excited to be coming home.  He planned a special stop to see his favorite niece.”

               This makes her laugh.  “Mommy, I’m his only niece.”

               “Which makes you his favorite,” I whisper before kissing her forehead.  I adjust her blankets around her, knowing she feels cold even though she’s burning up.  “Hopefully this medicine will help your fever break.  I’m going to bring your soup back to the kitchen.  I don’t see you drinking it right now.”

               “Thank you, Mommy.”  I smile at my sweet little girl.  For a child who comes from a family of old money, you’d never know it.  Every time she gets a new gift, she insists that we need to buy gifts for the sick kids at the hospital where she had her appendix out, which is every month.  While we were there for her recovery, she made friends with the sick kids.  Before she was discharged, she called her uncles and my father to ask permission to give her gifts away to kids who didn’t get anything while at the hospital.  They immediately agreed, then sent her other gifts to the house, so when she got home, she had more gifts.

               I bring the bowl of untouched soup back to the kitchen.  “She has the flu, and can barely hold anything down,” I tell Mrs. White, our housekeeper.  “I gave her some medicine, but we’ll see how long it takes for her to be on the mend.”

               “The poor little miss.  She looked so frail and pale.”

               “My brother will be sending her a gift soon; please be sure to send it to her room when it arrives.”

               “Will do.  I will put her soup away to reheat when she’s on the mend.  Shall I bring her more fluids?”

               “Yes.  She received an I.V. at the doctors, and I was told to push fluids to help.”

               “I pray she gets better,” Mrs. White says.

               I return to my daughter’s room, stretch out on the bed beside her, and dial my father’s number as I promised her.  As soon as my father answers the phone, Freya’s whole face lights up.  My family does their best to stay present in Freya’s life, while maintaining proper distance and boundaries with the Carter family and their company.  I drew a strict line that if they become involved with the Carter family business, I am to have no part of it.  Meaning, no matter what, the deals, mergers, and acquisitions are strictly based on merit, not based on my marriage. 

               For the past two years, the Carters have had little to do with Freya, which bothers me, but she doesn’t need a family whose attention she needs to earn.  I never want her to look at life as being only transactional.  Looking back, the time my marriage began to feel more transactional than a marriage was around the same time as when the Carters began to see Freya less and less. 

               By the time Freya had fallen asleep, Lincoln hadn’t responded to a single message or come home.  If he’s working on a major deal, it’s not uncommon for him to return home late, but to ignore my calls completely, that is unheard of.  I dial his number again.  “What is it, Valerie?  I’m sorry I forgot to call.  I’m swimming in paperwork for this project deal; I’m going to be late.”

               “Didn’t Iris tell you that I called?”

               “She did, and I don’t have time to deal with your pettiness.  Please don’t become unreasonable.”  He sounds exhausted.

               “Freya has the flu.  She was given an I.V at the doctor’s office.  She tried to wait up to speak to you.  You know how she gets when she doesn’t feel well,” I explain.

               “Clingy like her mother,” Lincoln comments.  Those words cut through me like a knife.  I am anything but clingy, and Lincoln knows that term rubs me the wrong way.

               “Fair enough.  I will not wait up,” I hung up the phone.  Strike 1, Lincoln Carter.  Zero concern for his daughter is not tolerated in my eyes.  She’s six, and ill.  Any child who is sick wants their parents to cuddle them and soothe them.  Lincoln has never been cold towards Freya.  I will give him the benefit of just being stressed about this project he’s working on, but I will not excuse it.