Chapter 8 - Unraveling the Finances
Graham slammed his phone down on the island. "That is not fair! You have no idea the pressure I am under! My family has supported us, Margo! They helped us with the down payment on this house!"
"They gave us ten thousand dollars six years ago, Graham! And we paid every single cent back with interest two years later!"
"They are my family!" he roared, standing up so violently that the barstool skidded across the hardwood floor. "Why can’t you just be the bigger person? Why do you always have to fight? Just say you’re sorry the night got out of hand! Just say a few words, let Renee delete the post, and we can move past this!"
"Because saying sorry means agreeing that I deserved to be treated like garbage," I said, tears finally pricking my eyes, though I refused to let them fall. "And I don't."
I turned my back on him and walked toward our home office. I needed my work laptop and my tax files; I had remote deadlines coming up on Monday, and I wasn't going to let this circus derail my career.
I opened the desk drawer, reached for my laptop bag, and knocked over a stack of unopened mail that Graham usually sorted. As the envelopes spilled across the carpet, one caught my eye—a bank statement from a local credit union where Graham had kept an old individual account from before we married.
Normally, I never opened his mail. We had a joint checking account for all household expenses, and we had agreed years ago that total transparency was the rule. But the logo on the envelope had an urgent red stamp: *Overdraft Protection Notice*.
My hand hovered over the paper. A cold knot formed in my throat. I picked it up, unfolded the single sheet, and scanned the recent transactions.
On November 12th—two weeks before Thanksgiving—a wire transfer of $8,500 had been sent to *Renee Miller*.
On November 18th, a check for $3,200 had cleared to *Brenda Miller*.
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I stood frozen in the center of the office, the paper trembling in my hands. Just last month, Graham had told me we couldn't afford to enroll Theo in the specialized speech therapy sessions his pediatrician recommended because our budget was too tight. He had told me we needed to cut back on groceries. He had scrutinized every receipt I brought home from Target.
And all the while, he was funneling over eleven thousand dollars to his mother and his sister.
