was standing in the hallway of our modest family home, holding our nine-month-old daughter in my arms while my wife, Maya, moved back and forth between the bedroom and the living room, stuffing clothes into suitcases.
I remember staring at her in disbelief.
There were six little girls in our home.
Six daughters who depended on us.
Six children who believed their mother and father were the center of their world.
But Maya had already made her decision.
She wanted a different life.
And she had found someone she believed could give it to her.
His name was Harry.
He was her wealthy boss.