Chapter 3 - THE FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS
I canceled our flight from the kitchen.
Michael followed me into the living room.
“You're seriously blowing up our honeymoon?”
“No. I'm choosing not to get on a plane with you.”
Mary called that melodramatic.
Susan said I was proving everyone's point.
I packed a small suitcase while they argued downstairs.
Then my phone started vibrating.
Michael's aunt.
His cousin.
His older brother in Ohio.
Susan had posted a thirty-second clip in the Davis family group chat.
It started with me standing beside the bed.
It showed me slapping Mary.
Then Michael.
It did not show the bucket being emptied over me.
The caption read:
FIRST MORNING OF MARRIAGE AND REBECCA ALREADY SHOWING HER TRUE COLORS.
I walked downstairs holding my phone.
“You edited it.”
Susan shrugged.
“I posted what happened.”
“No. You posted what came after.”
Michael reached for my wrist.
I stepped back.
“Don't touch me.”
His mother made a disgusted sound.
“Look at how you're talking to your husband.”
I took my suitcase and left.
My best friend, Dana, lived twelve minutes away in Dormont. I drove there still wearing yesterday's wedding manicure and clothes I'd pulled from the dryer.
Dana didn't ask me whether I wanted coffee.
She poured it and put it in my hands.
Then she said, “Start at the beginning.”
By eight-thirty, I was logged into every financial account Michael and I shared.
We had opened one joint checking account six months earlier for wedding expenses, utilities, and eventually household costs.
My stomach tightened when I saw the balance.
There should have been almost $23,000 left from cash wedding gifts and money we'd each contributed.
There was less than $6,500.
A $15,000 transfer had gone out two days before the wedding.
Recipient: D. TAYLOR.
I knew the name.
Derek Taylor worked with Michael.
For months, Michael had claimed Derek organized harmless football pools at the office.
I searched backward.
$800.
$1,250.
$600.
$2,000.
All transfers to Derek, usually on Mondays.
Dana sat beside me without speaking.
I opened my text messages and searched Michael's name with the word money.
A conversation from the previous month appeared.
I had forgotten how strange it had seemed at the time.
Michael had asked whether I could move $15,000 from my savings into our joint account “temporarily.”
When I'd asked why, he'd written:
I messed up with some bets. Please don't tell Mom or Susan.
May you like
I had refused.
Two weeks later, fifteen thousand dollars had disappeared anyway.
