Chapter 3 - THE DAYCARE MONEY NEVER DISAPPEARED
Jenna lived in a two-bedroom apartment in Westerville with a cat that hated everyone and a couch that unfolded badly.
It felt safer than my own apartment had in months.
Caleb slept beside me.
I did not.
At 1:17 a.m., I opened Sarah’s folder again.
One page bothered me.
February daycare payment.
$600.
Sarah paid Little Steps Learning Center directly.
Yet Caleb had missed four days because Leo told me his balance was overdue.
The next morning, I called the daycare.
“I’m trying to reconcile my account.”
The administrator, Ms. Patel, pulled the records.
“You currently owe one hundred fifty.”
“I know.”
“Before this week, the last delinquency was in April.”
“What about February?”
“No.”
“Were we paid?”
“Yes. A relative made a payment.”
“So why was Caleb out?”
A pause.
“Our notes say family requested temporary withdrawal.”
“What?”
“Four days. Father called.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Family schedule change.”
There had been no schedule change.
Leo spent those four days complaining that Caleb’s presence made it impossible for him to job hunt.
I remembered coming home after work to find cartoons running while Leo slept on the couch.
He had kept Caleb out even though daycare was paid.
Why?
I found another clue in Sarah’s texts.
The same week:
Sarah:
I paid the daycare directly. Now you can start Anthony’s shifts.
Leo:
We’ll see. Mia’s schedule keeps changing.
He had removed the excuse and invented another.
I called Sarah.
“Did he know you paid?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him he should work because daycare was covered?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
For months, I had believed our family was trapped in a cycle:
No daycare because no money.
No money because I could not work enough.
Leo could not work because Caleb was home.
Except someone had broken the cycle temporarily.
Sarah.
Leo restarted it.
That was different from laziness.
It was a choice.
Then my insurance company called about the windshield.
The denial was not final.
The representative I originally spoke with had said damage from an object thrown inside the vehicle might not qualify under one part of my policy.
But comprehensive coverage could still apply depending on circumstances and deductible.
They asked for photographs and an estimate.
My deductible was five hundred dollars.
Not twelve hundred.
I sat on Jenna’s couch staring at the phone.
Leo had placed the full repair estimate on Sarah’s table.
He had never mentioned the deductible.
Had he known?
I searched my email.
Yes.
The insurance company had emailed both me and Leo because his address was still attached to the policy portal.
Subject:
COMPREHENSIVE CLAIM — $500 DEDUCTIBLE
Sent before dinner.
Leo had asked Sarah for $1,200 anyway.
Why?
I knew where the extra money would have gone.
Horizon Community Bank.
The hidden account.
That afternoon I went to the branch.
They could not disclose Leo’s account to me.
Obviously.
But they confirmed I was not a joint owner.
Good.
At least there was one debt that could not legally become “ours.”
Then Jenna asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Are you going back to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Caleb loves him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I hated her a little for being right.
I still loved Leo.
Or maybe I loved the version of us from before Caleb.
Before overdue bills.
Before he stopped working consistently.
Before every conversation became:
What are you going to do about it?
I remembered laughing with him in our first apartment.
Pregnancy test on the bathroom counter.
Both terrified.
Both promising:
“We’ll figure it out.”
May you like
Somewhere along the way, we became me.
And I kept waiting for him to notice.
