PART 4
I felt something inside me move.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But perhaps the first tiny crack in the wall I had built around my heart.
Theresa picked up her coat.
“You’ll regret this.”
I looked at her.
“I already regret eight years.”
She walked toward the door.
Then she stopped.
Without turning around, she said:
“You’ll never keep him.”
I didn’t answer.
Andrew did.
“Mom, stop.”
She turned.
He looked directly at her.
“If Carla leaves me, it won’t be because she took my house.”
His voice trembled.
“It’ll be because I gave her every reason to.”
Theresa left.
The front door slammed.
And for several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Andrew sat down.
He covered his face with both hands.
“I was horrible to you.”
I didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
He lowered his hands.
“I don’t know how to fix this.”
“You may not be able to.”
He stared at me.
“Are you leaving me?”
I looked around the living room.
The room where his mother had spent years criticizing my decorating.
The room where family dinners had happened.
The room where I had smiled through insults.
The room I had paid for.
“I haven’t decided.”
He nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
I expected him to argue.
He didn’t.
Instead, he said something I wasn’t prepared for.
“I want to earn the right to stay.”
I looked at him.
“In this house?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“With you.”
My throat tightened.
But I didn’t let the tears fall.
Not yet.
“Then start by moving your mother out.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
I frowned.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.”
He stood.
“I need to understand what life feels like when I can’t hide behind you anymore.”
Then he walked upstairs.
I remained downstairs, staring at the door.
My mother returned from the kitchen.
“Well?”
I looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
She sat beside me.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes.”
She squeezed my hand.
“For the first time, you don’t have to know what happens next.”
I looked toward the staircase.
For years, I had been terrified of losing my marriage.
That night, I realized something strange.
I wasn’t terrified anymore.
And that frightened me more than anything.
Because when you’re no longer afraid to lose someone, they finally have to decide whether they want to stay.
The next morning, I woke up to an email.
It was from our accountant.
The subject line read:
URGENT — Please Call Me Before Andrew Makes Any Financial Decisions.
My stomach tightened.
I opened it.
There were several attachments.
Bank statements.
Property records.
Investment documents.
And one message:
Carla, I believe you need to know what Andrew has been doing with the joint accounts. Please call me immediately.
I sat upright in bed.
For the first time since the vacation, my hands began to shake.
I called him.
He answered on the first ring.
“Carla, I’m glad you called.”
“What happened?”
There was a pause.
“I found something while reviewing the accounts.”
“What?”
“I found several transfers.”
“To where?”
“An account you don’t recognize.”
My heart began pounding.
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Over the past three years?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately one hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Transferred by whom?”
Another pause.
“Andrew.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“And where did the money go?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
My voice became quiet.
“Please do.”
After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed.
One hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars.
Andrew had been asking me why I had suddenly become distant.
Why I didn’t trust him.
Why I wouldn’t immediately forgive him.
And all along, there was something else.
Something he had never told me.
I walked downstairs.
Andrew was standing in the kitchen making coffee.
He smiled nervously.
“Morning.”
I stared at him.
“Where did the money go?”
The coffee machine continued humming.
His smile disappeared.
“What money?”
I placed my phone on the counter.
The email was open.
His face changed instantly.
And I knew.
Before he said a single word.
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