I stepped into the bedroom and noticed the second drawer of the dresser standing open—my sock drawer. A stack of envelopes was tucked inside, shoved behind some old T-shirts.
My stomach turned cold.
I pulled them out. Past-due notices. A final warning from the utilities company. A letter from our mortgage lender about a delinquency I hadn’t known about.
I had been paying. Every month I transferred the money, trusting Ethan to handle the online portal the way he claimed. But the letters in my hands told a completely different story.
I walked back into the living room holding the stack.
“Ethan,” I said.
He looked up, hopeful for half a second. Then he saw the envelopes and his throat bobbed.
“What are these?” I asked.
Patricia tried to intercept. “Those are—old. Don’t confuse yourself.”
I ignored her. “Our mortgage is behind?”
Ethan stood with his hands out as if he could catch the words before they landed. “It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think,” I said. “Where did the money go?”
His eyes flicked toward Patricia. It was a tiny movement, but it said everything. The same reflex he’d always had—look to Mom before answering.