Rebecca, meanwhile, kept fidgeting with the keys in her hand, the movement nervous and distracted enough that I realized she was not actually standing in a position of strength here. She was already beginning to understand what she had married: not a romantic rebel, not a brave truth-teller escaping a loveless union, but a sloppy man who thought cruelty was power and logistics were something women handled for him.
A truck driver from the rental company was standing a few feet back waiting with paperwork, clearly wishing he had gotten a different route that day. Rebecca stepped toward him and swiped a card across the mobile reader.
Declined.
She frowned, tried again.
Declined.
She reached into her purse, pulled out another card, and swiped.
Declined.
The driver coughed into his fist and said, “Ma’am, if the balance isn’t covered—”
Ethan snatched his own wallet out and thrust a card at the man. “Use mine.”
Rebecca looked at him. “I thought—”
“Shut up,” he snapped.
There it was. The first crack in the fantasy. The new wife blinking in the sunlight while the old patterns crawled out under pressure.
I crossed my arms. “Looks like the Vegas glow wore off faster than you thought.”