His Heartless Plan, Her Bitter End

For three years, I painted by day and worked dead-end jobs by night, all to fund my brilliant musician husband, David, battling a rare illness.

My latest sacrifice was night shifts at the Sterling Art Gallery-dangerous, but it paid for his experimental treatments.

Then, a laugh drifted from a private room, strong and vibrant, just like David's, but not the weak one I knew.

"You should have seen her face, Em," he chuckled, "She actually believes I need that new 'serum' from Switzerland. Another fifty grand, just like that."