And the way my husband smiled.
Suddenly, every little moment looked completely different.
At two-forty, I opened the laptop.
I logged into our joint account. I went back four years. To the month Greg got laid off.
I searched for the letter D.
The screen filled up.
D. For the house. $2,100.
D. For the house. $2,100.
D. For the house. $1,800.
D. For the house. $2,400.
Nineteen of them.
Nineteen deposits in nineteen months. Almost always on the twenty-eighth. Three days before the mortgage came out.
I’d only ever seen one. Because I only ever looked at the account once that whole year. Greg paid the bills while I worked. That was the deal.
I added them up on my phone calculator three times, because I didn’t believe it.
Thirty-nine thousand, nine hundred dollars.
Diane had paid almost forty thousand dollars of our mortgage.
And I didn’t know.
My face was hot. My hands were cold. I sat at that kitchen table and thought about every single night I came home at eleven o’clock with my feet throbbing, and Diane standing at my sink, sighing at the dishes.
