My anger about the money began losing its simple shape.
The truth was not that Calvin had stolen $280,000.
The truth was more complicated.
Roughly $196,000 had gone directly toward raising Ava.
Fifty-six thousand remained in accounts designated for her education.
Twenty-eight thousand had been used during the previous year for Melissa’s uncovered rehabilitation expenses, transportation and neurological assessments.
Calvin pushed the final page toward me.
“I started putting money back three months ago.”
There were three deposits from his personal account.
“You still should have asked.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His answer came slowly.
“I was ashamed.”
“Of helping your wife?”
“Of needing your money to do it.”
He looked toward the window.
“When Melissa died—or when we thought she died—I became obsessed with proving I could handle everything. Ava. Work. The house. I didn’t want anyone thinking I survived because you paid my bills.”
