Coming out of the bank, I sat in my car, staring at dozens of pages of transaction records. The amounts Julian had transferred to Lucille ranged from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars. And after every single one, a note was appended: Voluntary gift.
My chest tightened like something was pressing down on it. A suffocating grip closed around my throat, and my eyes burned hot.
I remembered then. I used to admire other women's manicures too. I envied how put-together they looked. And once, just like those carefree young women, I'd booked an appointment and gotten my nails done. I came home and made a point of flashing my pretty fingers in front of Julian, waving them around, hoping he'd tell me I looked beautiful.
The result?
Julian just met my hopeful face with cold indifference.
"Babe."
"I know things have been getting a little better for us," he said, grabbing my hand and studying my nails. He shook his head in disapproval. "But the worst thing a person can do is forget where they came from."
"We can't start throwing money around just because life's gotten a little easier, right?"
"What if things get tough again someday? How would you adjust?"