She sighed and replied, “What did you do this time.” Her tone was sharp, already tired of a problem she assumed I had created. When I tried to explain, she interrupted and said, “I cannot keep fixing your life. You are married, let Malcolm handle it.”
I thanked her before hanging up, because gratitude had been trained into me like a reflex. The call left a hollow ache in my chest that had nothing to do with finances. I sat quietly for a moment before getting ready for the day.
Malcolm came home during lunch, dropping his keys loudly on the counter. I slid an envelope toward him with a printed notice inside and said, “I am behind this month and I need help.” He barely looked at the paper before frowning.
He leaned back and said, “Why are you putting this on me.” His voice carried annoyance instead of concern. “You handle the bills. That is your responsibility.”
I swallowed and answered, “I am asking because I cannot do it alone this time.” He shrugged and stood up, already done with the conversation. “Ask your family,” he said. “Someone will figure it out.”