Chapter 2
Nia stared at the statement.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Then she whispered, "You went through my private business?"
I almost laughed.
Private business.
That was what she called it.
Eighteen months of payments from my account.
Money I'd earned.
Money she'd insisted was keeping her sister from becoming homeless.
And somehow, asking where it went made me the villain.
"Nia, answer the question."
She folded her arms.
"You're violating my privacy."
"The company is registered under your name."
"So?"
"So why is Jasmine transferring money to it?"
She looked away.
I placed the statement on the table.
"Harbor Ridge Investments."
Nia's mouth tightened.
"That's nothing."
I pointed toward the transactions.
"Then explain the deposits."
She said nothing.
"March. Three thousand dollars."
Silence.
"April. Four thousand five hundred."
She stared at the floor.
"June. Six thousand."
"Derek, stop."
"August. Eight thousand."
Her eyes filled.
I took a breath.
"And those are only the transfers I've identified so far."
Nia pulled out a chair.
She sat heavily.
For the first time since walking into the dining room, she looked exhausted.
"Jasmine needed help getting started."
"Getting started with what?"
"A business."
I stared.
"What business?"
She swallowed.
"Real estate."
I looked down at the statement.
Then back at my wife.
"You're telling me Jasmine has been investing in real estate?"
Nia nodded quickly.
"Yes."
"With my money?"
"It's complicated."
I shook my head.
"Then make it simple."
She rubbed her forehead.
"Jasmine found an opportunity."
"What opportunity?"
"A property investment."
"Where?"
She hesitated.
"Outside Atlanta."
I stared.
Nia had become skilled at answering questions without actually providing information.
During our marriage, I'd often mistaken that for stress.
Now I recognized it as avoidance.
"What's the address?"
She looked toward the window.
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember where your sister invested tens of thousands of dollars?"
"Derek, you're interrogating me!"
I leaned against the table.
"You're right. This conversation shouldn't require an interrogation."
For a moment, I thought she might finally explain.
Instead, she began crying.
"I was trying to do something good for us."
I froze.
"For us?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
I looked at the statement again.
Nia's name was attached to the company.
Jasmine's payments were flowing into it.
And nobody had mentioned an investment to me.
"Then why hide it?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"Because I knew you'd say no."
I stared.
There it was.
The first honest answer of the morning.
I sat down across from her.
"Nia, you didn't ask me to invest in a business."
She looked down.
"You told me your sister couldn't buy groceries."
Her shoulders shook.
"You told me she was behind on rent."
She covered her face.
"You cried because you said she might be evicted."
"I know."
I felt something inside me break.
I remembered one particular evening.
It was December.
We'd been decorating the Christmas tree.
Nia received a call from Jasmine and began crying.
She told me Jasmine's landlord had threatened eviction.
I transferred an extra two thousand dollars that night.
We canceled our anniversary trip because Nia said her sister needed help more.
I thought I was protecting someone vulnerable.
Now I wondered whether any of it had been true.
"Was Jasmine ever being evicted?"
Nia didn't answer.
I repeated the question.
"Was she?"
"No."
One word.
That was all it took.
I leaned back.
The room felt strangely quiet.
I'd spent years building trust with my wife.
One lie had opened the door.
Now dozens more were walking through.
"How long?"
She looked up.
"What?"
"How long have you been lying to me?"
Nia shook her head.
"We weren't trying to hurt you."
"That's not what I asked."
She swallowed.
"About a year."
I stared.
"A year?"
She nodded.
I looked at the banking history.
Eighteen months.
I could already tell she wasn't telling the whole truth.
"Why did you start the company?"
She hesitated.
"Jasmine had an idea."
"And you?"
"I wanted to support her."
I pointed toward the statement.
"Why is the company in your name?"
"Because my credit is better."
I frowned.
Nia hadn't worked outside our home for four years.
That had been her choice.
She managed some household responsibilities and volunteered at a community center.
I never made her feel guilty about not earning a salary.
But we'd always agreed that major financial decisions required a conversation.
"Did you sign a loan?"
Her expression changed.
I noticed immediately.
"Nia?"
She looked away.
My stomach tightened.
"Did you borrow money?"
She whispered, "A little."
I stood.
"How much?"
She didn't answer.
"Ten thousand?"
Silence.
"Twenty?"
She began crying again.
I felt my heart pounding.
"Nia, look at me."
She slowly raised her eyes.
"How much?"
Her voice was barely audible.
"Seventy-five thousand."
I grabbed the back of my chair.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
My wife had borrowed seventy-five thousand dollars without telling me.
I took a slow breath.
"In whose name?"
She shook her head.
"Derek, please don't get angry."
I stared at her.
"Whose name?"
She began sobbing.
May you like
Then whispered something that made my entire body go cold.
"Both of ours."
