Chapter 8 - A Different Address —
Emma came out of the hospital wearing the gray coat I had bought her the previous winter.
Claire walked beside her.
I stood near the entrance holding the bag Emma had asked me to carry.
“Do you need my arm?” I asked.
“No, thank you.”
I moved aside.
Those three polite words hurt more than shouting would have.
At Claire’s apartment, I carried the bags upstairs and stopped just inside the door.
The place was small. There were books stacked under the coffee table, a crooked lamp, and a blanket folded across the couch.
On the kitchen counter sat a glass of water and a plate of toast.
Someone had thought about what Emma might need before she had to ask.
I put her bags in the guest room.
Claire had made space in a dresser and cleared a shelf in the bathroom. A phone charger was already plugged in beside the bed.
Emma watched me notice.
“She shouldn’t have to rearrange her life,” I said quietly.
Claire, standing behind me, answered before Emma could.
“She didn’t ask me to. I offered.”
I looked down.
Emma sat on the edge of the bed.
“We need to talk about the house.”
“Okay.”
“I want to go back eventually. The nursery’s there. My things are there.”
Hope rose so quickly it embarrassed me.
Then she added, “But I need you to stay somewhere else.”
I nodded before I trusted myself to speak.
“All right.”
“You can afford a short-term place?”
“Yes.”
“And I need the actual account information. Not just you telling me we’re fine.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She met my eyes.
“Statements. Passwords for the household accounts. The mortgage information.”
“You’ve always had access.”
“I’ve had a card. That isn’t the same thing.”
She was right.
I had handled our money because I understood it. Then, without ever announcing a change, I had started treating understanding as ownership.
“I’ll put everything together tonight.”
“Everything?”
The question held more weight than it should have.
I hesitated.
Emma saw it immediately.
“What haven’t you told me?”
I could have delayed.
I could have said she needed rest.
I could have hidden behind concern one more time.
Instead, I pulled the chair away from the desk and sat.
“The investment loss was worse than I said.”
Emma didn’t move.
“How much worse?”
I told her.
Her face went still.
May you like
For the first time that afternoon, she looked less tired than angry.
“You let me think I was imagining how frightened you were.”
