Chapter 9 - What We Could Afford —
We weren’t broke.
That almost made the lie uglier.
We could pay the mortgage. We had savings. Our insurance was current. There was no secret eviction waiting behind the next envelope.
But I had lost money I considered proof that I was smart.
And instead of telling my wife I was ashamed, I had told her I was busy.
“How long?” Emma asked.
“Since September.”
She looked at the floor.
“That was when you started sleeping with your phone.”
“I was watching the market.”
“You were watching everything except us.”
I accepted that without answering.
“I asked you if something was wrong,” she said.
“I remember.”
“You said I was worrying too much.”
“I know.”
Her eyes lifted sharply.
I corrected myself.
“I remember saying it. It was wrong.”
Claire stepped away, giving us what privacy the apartment allowed.
Emma folded her hands in her lap.
“I thought pregnancy was making me difficult. I kept trying to be easier.”
“You didn’t need to be.”
“But you let me try.”
That was the part I couldn’t escape.
I hadn’t ordered her to shrink her needs. I had simply rewarded the days when she did.
The smaller she made her fear, the more comfortable I became.
“I’ll send you the statements,” I said. “And we can meet with someone independent. Whoever you choose.”
“I don’t want a presentation.”
“You won’t get one.”
“I want answers when I ask questions.”
“Yes.”
She looked exhausted again.
“You should go.”
I stood.
At the door, I turned back.
“Did you think I’d lost the house?”
“I didn’t know what to think.”
The sentence followed me downstairs.
That night, I rented a small furnished apartment twenty minutes away.
I took clothes, a laptop, and the shaving kit Emma had given me for our first anniversary.
I left my house key on the kitchen counter.
Then I sent the account information.
No speech. No apology attached to every document. Just the truth, organized so she could check it without needing me.
Near midnight, my phone lit up.
Emma.
I opened the message so quickly I nearly dropped it.
I’m making a birth plan with my doctor.
A second message followed.
Claire will be my support person.
I sat on the edge of a bed that smelled faintly of detergent.
May you like
Then the third message appeared.
I haven’t decided whether I want you in the room.
