Chapter 4 - THE FIRST THING I DID WITHOUT ASKING HIM
At nine that morning, I called the bank.
I didn't accuse Michael of stealing.
The account was joint. Legally, that mattered.
Instead, I asked for transaction records, device logs, and confirmation of who had initiated the $15,000 transfer.
The representative told me it had been authorized through Michael's online profile.
That meant the bank probably wasn't going to reverse it simply because I hadn't agreed.
It also meant he couldn't pretend it had been a banking mistake.
I moved my paycheck deposit back to my personal checking account.
Then I removed my personal credit card from the household autopay list.
Those were small actions.
They felt enormous.
Michael called eleven times.
On the twelfth, I answered.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“My mother has a bruise on her face.”
“So do I, Michael. Mine just isn't shaped like a hand.”
“You hit me.”
“Yes. And I shouldn't have.”
He went quiet.
I meant it.
Mary had assaulted and humiliated me, but I had made my own choice when I slapped her and Michael. I wasn't going to rewrite that part simply because they had behaved worse.
Then Michael said, “So you're admitting it.”
My entire body went still.
“Why are you talking like there's a court reporter on the line?”
He hung up.
Twenty minutes later, Mary texted me.
You embarrassed him in front of his own family after everything he's dealing with.
I replied:
What exactly is he dealing with?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
You know perfectly well. That's why you've been refusing to sign.
I stared at the message.
Sign what?
She didn't respond.
Dana and I drove back to my townhouse at noon because my laptop and medication were there.
Mary's SUV was gone.
Michael's car remained in the driveway.
I told Dana to stay with me.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of wedding flowers and damp fabric.
The refinance folder was no longer on the kitchen island.
But there was an impression on the notepad beneath it.
Someone had written hard enough to leave grooves on several sheets.
I shaded the page lightly with the side of a pencil.
A phone number appeared.
Below it were three words:
KAREN — LOAN OFFICER.
I called.
When Karen answered, I gave her my name.
Her tone changed immediately.
“Oh. Mrs. Davis. I've been waiting for your authorization.”
May you like
“What authorization?”
A pause.
