Leo pushed the door open, forcing his way into the small, cluttered living room.

I followed him, locking the door behind us.

The room was warm and smelled of stale cigarette smoke and cheap vanilla candles.

“Where is our savings, Melanie?” Leo demanded, stepping closer to her.

“I don’t have it,” she whimpered, backing away until her knees hit her sofa.

“You took the checkbook from our kitchen while Grace was in labor,” Leo said, his voice rising.

“Mother said it was for the baby’s future,” Melanie cried, tears spilling over her eyelids. “She said you two couldn’t be trusted.”

“We worked five years for that money,” I said, my voice cold. “That was for Sam’s medical bills.”

Melanie shook her head rapidly, her mug rattling against its saucer.

“It’s gone anyway,” she blurted out.

Leo froze. “What do you mean, gone?”

“She spent it,” Melanie said, her voice cracking. “She had to.”

“On what?” Leo roared.

“The lawyer!” Melanie screamed, shrinking back into the sofa cushions.

The room went dead silent except for the hum of the old refrigerator in the kitchen.