Donna gave me a queenly nod and turned back toward my closet like the matter had been resolved by decree. I picked up my laptop bag and one briefcase from the floor, walked downstairs, entered my home office, locked the door, sat at my desk, opened my computer, and began to audit my fiancé.
There is a kind of stillness that comes over me when I know I’m close to the truth. It is not anger. Anger is hot. This is cold. It’s the same feeling I get when a witness contradicts a ledger or when one decimal place slips and exposes an entire scheme. The office was dark except for the blue glow of my screens. Upstairs, in my bed, his mother was unpacking into my life. They thought I had surrendered. That was their first mistake.
A year earlier, Ryan had handed me his laptop and tax folders because filing made him “anxious” and I was “better with numbers.” I had never touched his accounts after that, but I had enough baseline information to find what I needed if I had cause. Tonight, I had cause.