Chapter 7
I returned to the investment house with Grace and a property manager.
Marcus was given notice of the visit. He stayed away.
Tasha had moved out three weeks earlier.
The house felt different without her clothes and photographs. It still held the furniture I had selected, but I no longer mistook those objects for a life I wanted back.
The property manager photographed each room.
Grace checked the inventory against the documents.
I went straight to my mother’s table.
A water stain marked one corner.
I touched the wood.
Marcus had set the lemonade there when he saw me.
For a moment, the porch returned in full: Tasha’s hand on the door, the sweatshirt, his voice from the hall.
Then I took a breath.
The table could be repaired.
Not everything damaged had to stay damaged.
I arranged for it to be moved into storage until I found my own place.
In the kitchen, the whiteboard was gone.
Four tiny holes remained in the wall.
I stared at them longer than I expected.
Grace came beside me.
“Do you want a moment?”
“No. I want to finish.”
We did.
The financial review showed more unauthorized transfers from our joint savings. Some were used for the property. Others paid for trips, gifts, and Tasha’s living expenses.
I did not ask Tasha to list every dinner he bought her.
The bank records were enough.
During a settlement meeting, Marcus tried to describe those expenses as ordinary household spending.
Grace placed the dates beside the messages he had sent me about contractor bills.
The room became quiet.
His lawyer asked for a break.
I walked outside and stood beneath a tree.
My hands were cold despite the sun.
Marcus followed to the doorway.
“Nia.”
I turned.
His lawyer remained behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
It was the first time he said it without immediately blaming someone else.
I waited.
“I got in over my head.”
“How?”
“With the business. The money. Everything.”
“And Tasha?”
He looked away.
“I liked being someone she admired.”
I felt the answer settle.
“You could have told me you were struggling.”
“You would have seen me differently.”
“I see you differently now.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
For a moment, I saw the man I married without the confidence he used as armor.
I felt grief.
I did not feel a wish to return.
“Did you ever intend to tell me?” I asked.
He took too long to answer.
“No,” I said. “That’s an answer too.”
I went back inside.
The meeting ended without a full agreement, but Marcus conceded several financial points once the records were produced.
The apparent forgery investigation continued.
Diane’s role became clearer through messages she had sent him before the closing. She helped provide my identification and participated in presenting false authority.
She had expected the debt to be repaid before anyone asked questions.
Her attorney stopped calling Grace with requests for a family conversation.
Instead, they discussed documents.
That was where the truth belonged now.
Tasha’s case advanced too. She supplied records of the investment promise and the statements Marcus made about the inactive company.
She sent me a short message after one interview.
I remembered something else and corrected my statement. I want it accurate.
I replied:
That matters.
We met once more in the café.
She asked whether I wanted to talk about the affair.
I shook my head.
“Not today.”
“Okay.”
She did not push.
Instead, she told me she had started a new job managing accounts for a small nonprofit.
“I’m checking everything I sign,” she said.
“So am I.”
We both smiled, briefly.
Before we left, she said, “I don’t expect us to become friends.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted you to know I never thought you deserved this.”
I looked at her.
“I’m beginning to know that.”
That night, Ellis asked whether I would like to join him and Camille for a weekend trip.
I almost said I should stay near my phone.
Then I heard myself.
The investigation did not require me to sit beside an inbox every hour.
“Yes,” I said.
We went to the coast.
I walked on the beach without photographing anything for evidence. I ate breakfast without a phone on the table. I slept through the night.
On the last morning, Camille took a picture of Ellis and me standing in the wind.
I looked tired.
May you like
I also looked happy.
I saved it.
