“Do you?”
Calvin looked older than forty.
“For eighteen months I’ve been trying to make decisions nobody taught me how to make. I found out my wife was alive. I had to explain to my daughter that the mother she visited at a cemetery was living forty minutes away. I had to help Melissa without overwhelming her. And every time I thought about calling you, Melissa would have a bad week and I’d convince myself another month wouldn’t matter.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Then another month became another.”
That answer did not erase my anger.
But it made it human.
People imagine betrayal as something planned coldly in a dark room.
Sometimes it is simply a wrong choice repeated so many times it becomes harder to undo.
“I want every financial record,” I said.
“You’ll have it.”
“And there will be no more money moved without my knowledge.”
