Tiffany had sent me baby-name reels on social media for the last month as a joke, always with captions like imagine when one of us finally gets knocked up lol. My mother had started asking what I thought about converting the turret room into a nursery “someday,” and I had laughed because Aunt Betty used that room as a reading nook and because Brett and I were in no rush and because none of it meant what I thought it meant.
I opened the banking app.
Brett had linked our wedding account there because he liked to move money between his checking account and the account I primarily funded. “Looks better when we show wedding vendors one strong balance,” he had said.
The transactions were bright as blood.
Aloha Resorts: $12,084.52
Delta One roundtrip for four: $4,527.11
Tiffany & Company: $3,281.00
Several boutique purchases I recognized because Tiffany had once sent me identical items as “inspiration” for bridesmaid gifts.
They had used my money to fund their affair vacation.
I set the iPad down very carefully and stared across the room at the framed photo on the mantel from my pharmacy school graduation. Aunt Betty stood beside me in a navy suit and pearls, one hand around my shoulders, pride radiating off her in a way my parents had never managed even when pretending. My mother and father were not in the picture because they had arrived late and left early after complaining about parking.
Memory arrived with such force it almost felt like Betty speaking through the walls.
You are gold, Valerie.
She had said that over crème brûlée at a restaurant in Napa after commencement, while my parents sulked because the restaurant was “too fancy” even though Betty was paying.
Promise me you will never rely on them. Financial independence is the only freedom a woman really has.
At twenty-six, I had rolled my eyes and kissed her cheek and said I knew. But I did not know. Not really. I knew how to budget. I knew how to work. I knew how to build security in spreadsheets and retirement accounts. I did not know that independence also meant recognizing who would rather use your life than live beside it.
The phone slipped in my damp hand when I reached for it, and I nearly dropped that too.
I called Cassie Morgan.