Chapter 4
At my parents’ house, Sophie slept in the room that had once been mine.
I lay awake on the couch, listening for her footsteps. When I heard the floor creak, I found her in the kitchen with a glass of water.
“I keep thinking I should call Dad,” she said.
“You can.”
“What if he asks me to forgive him?”
“You can tell him you aren’t ready.”
She turned the glass in her hands. “I don’t think he understands what he took.”
I thought of the dorm room, the orientation schedule pinned above her desk, the names of girls she had already met online.
“I think he knows,” I said. “I’m not sure he let himself care.”
The next morning, we drove to the university.
Sophie’s financial aid counselor, Mrs. Chen, met us in a small office. Sophie did most of the talking. Her voice wavered when she described the canceled housing, but she finished.
Mrs. Chen said the university could review an emergency grant and a short payment extension. The nursing program would hold Sophie’s academic place while the housing office worked on her request. A grant was possible, not certain. A dorm room depended on availability.
Sophie asked the question I was afraid to ask.
“If housing doesn’t come through, can I still start?”
“We’ll help you look at every option,” Mrs. Chen said. “Stay in contact with me today.”
Outside the office, Sophie sat on a bench and covered her face.
“She said I can start,” I reminded her.
“She said I might have nowhere to live.”
I sat beside her. “I heard her.”
“I don’t want to be grateful for half a future.”
“You don’t have to be.”
My phone rang. It was Rebecca.
She had found the invoices. They were all signed with Mark’s name. Laurel Bridge had charged her business for consulting, marketing, and a deposit on guest services.
“I never approved a guest services deposit,” she said. “And the address on the invoices is a mailbox.”
“Send them to me.”
“I already sent them to the bank too.”
Then she told me something worse. Mark had called her that morning and asked her to say the consulting charges were legitimate. When she refused, he threatened to tell their mother Rebecca had known about Sophie’s fund all along.
“He can tell her,” Rebecca said. “She was at dinner.”
I went home to get clothes and documents while Sophie stayed with my parents. Mark’s car was in the driveway.
He was at the dining table with two mugs of coffee.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
I stayed near the door. “I’m here for our things.”
“Sit down. We need to fix this.”
“Then tell me who owns Laurel Bridge.”
He pushed a mug toward the empty chair. “It’s a company I set up.”
My stomach sank.
“Why?”
“I was consulting for Rebecca. I’ve spent months helping her. The business paid me.”
“You paid yourself from our household account too.”
“That covered expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“Travel. Meetings. Supplies.” He rubbed his forehead. “Claire, I was trying to build something for us. My job’s been unstable.”
He had not told me that. Every evening, he had come home, asked Sophie about school, and talked about ordinary things.
“Are you about to lose your job?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you panic when money gets tight.”
I had worked overtime to fill Sophie’s fund. I knew exactly what it meant for money to be tight.
“Show me the contracts,” I said.
“I don’t have them here.”
“Show me your invoices to Rebecca.”
His eyes moved to my phone. “She sent them to you.”
“Were the services real?”
He stood. “I was going to repay it when the property opened.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He walked toward me. I stepped back, and he stopped.
His face changed. “I would never hurt you.”
“You hurt Sophie.”
He sat down again.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “If you and Rebecca start calling banks and lawyers, she’ll lose the retreat and Sophie won’t get a cent. Give me two weeks.”
“Her classes start Monday.”
“I can find a way.”
“You already had two days to tell us. You used them to cancel her room.”
He said nothing.
I went upstairs and packed clothes, my work laptop, and Sophie’s birth certificate. I photographed the contents of our home file cabinet because I could no longer trust what would be there when I returned.
Mark waited by the door.
“Are you really leaving over money?”
I looked at him. “I’m leaving because Sophie is afraid to come home and ask her father the truth.”
He let me pass.
In the car, I called a lawyer whose office a coworker had recommended. She could see me the next afternoon. I also called the bank and asked what records I should bring to a formal review.
By evening, Rebecca had found a second account linked to Laurel Bridge. She couldn’t see inside it, but she could see where one of the largest payments had gone.
The receiving institution was the same bank that held our mortgage.
I checked our mortgage account. The balance had dropped sharply in June.
For one hopeful second, I thought Mark might have used some of the money to protect our home.
Then I noticed the account number on the payment receipt.
It wasn’t our mortgage.
I called Mark. He let it ring out.
When Sophie came into the kitchen, I closed the screen.
“No more surprises,” she said quietly.
I turned it back toward her.
“There’s another payment I don’t understand,” I said. “I’m trying to find out where it went.”
May you like
She pulled out a chair and sat with me.
“Then we find out together.”
