Leon paused in his tracks, turned, grasped his wife's hand, and gently stroked the swollen redness, being careful to avoid the two festering spots.
"Look at your hands; you need rest, not more work."
She had taken up making wicker baskets during the day, often piercing her fingers with the splinters, and by night, she would transform into a laundry worker, submerging her injured hands in icy water, causing the wounds to swell and fester repeatedly.
Leon knew that the little finger and ring finger on her left hand had already lost sensation. Father Hugo from the parish had said it would be best to amputate them, or else eventually the entire arm might decay.
But they had no money for the surgery.
Not to mention the cost of the operation, even if a doctor was willing to amputate for free, she dared not accept it. Post-surgery, she wouldn't be able to do anything for at least a month; with just Leon's meager earnings, their children would likely starve to death.