Chapter 3
Camille did not shout.
That frightened Andre more than anything I had said.
She stood beside me on the porch and looked at him with the quiet attention she usually reserved for numbers that did not add up.
My sister was an accountant.
He had always called her suspicious.
I was beginning to understand why.
“Do you have your keys?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“Your identification?”
“In my bag.”
“Good. We’re leaving.”
Andre stepped forward.
“Camille, this is a marriage. You don’t know everything.”
She looked at the house.
“I know my sister shouldn’t be standing here shaking.”
I had not realized I was.
Tasha lingered near her car.
Camille turned toward her.
“Do you have somewhere safe to go?”
“My cousin’s.”
“Go there. Keep your messages.”
Andre gave a short laugh.
“What is this? A crime scene?”
Camille ignored him.
I wanted to leave with dignity.
Instead, I walked back inside.
Andre followed.
“Nia, thank you. Let’s just sit down.”
I went straight to the sunflower mug.
I picked it up.
Then I took the framed anniversary photograph from the entry table and removed Tasha’s picture.
She watched from the doorway, eyes wet.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“The frame isn’t your fault.”
I put it in my bag.
Andre stared at me.
“You’re seriously taking a picture frame?”
“I’m taking something you told me was broken.”
I left before he could answer.
In Camille’s car, my anger finally failed.
I folded over my handbag and cried so hard that my ribs hurt.
She drove without telling me to calm down.
At a red light, she put one hand on my back.
“You don’t have to decide your whole life today.”
“He asked me for a baby.”
My voice sounded like someone else’s.
Camille’s hand went still.
“I know.”
“What kind of person does that?”
She did not give me an easy answer.
We drove to my studio.
I needed a place that still belonged to me.
The smell of wood dust met me at the door.
A half-finished dresser stood beneath the windows. Fabric samples were pinned to a board. Three chairs waited for their final coat of finish.
Yesterday, I had been proud of all of it.
Now I wondered whether any of it was safe.
Camille made tea while I opened my laptop.
My hands hovered over the keyboard.
Andre had handled our household accounts for nearly two years.
He said I worked enough.
He said marriage meant letting someone carry part of the load.
I logged into the joint account.
There were transfers I recognized.
Utilities. Groceries. Our mortgage.
Then there were payments I did not.
A furniture store.
A landscaping company.
A nursery.
I stopped on that word.
Nursery.
Camille leaned closer.
“It could be plants.”
I nodded too quickly.
Of course.
Plants.
I opened my business account.
The balance was lower than I expected.
Much lower.
“There should be another eighteen thousand here.”
Camille pulled a chair beside mine.
“Show me.”
We followed the transfers.
Small amounts first.
Then larger ones.
Payments labeled supplies, freight, consulting.
One consulting payment went to a company I had never hired.
Hale Property Services.
Andre’s surname.
Mine too.
Until that afternoon, seeing it had made me feel part of something.
Now it made me sick.
“He said he was organizing invoices.”
Camille’s face tightened.
“Did you give him access?”
“Yes.”
“Did you authorize these payments?”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“We need statements. Not guesses.”
So we downloaded them.
Month after month.
I watched the life I thought I had turn into columns.
Trips.
Gifts.
Household expenses for an address where I did not live.
Then I found a message from our bank.
It had been archived.
A notice about a credit account opened in my business name.
I clicked.
My throat closed.
“I didn’t apply for this.”
Camille read the screen.
“Have you ever signed an application for a business credit line?”
“No.”
“Not even something he brought home?”
I thought of the papers Andre sometimes placed beside my dinner.
Insurance renewals.
Vendor updates.
Documents he summarized while I was answering customer messages.
“I don’t know.”
That frightened me more than a clear no.
My phone began ringing.
Andre.
I silenced it.
Then his mother called.
Renee had always treated me like a daughter when other people were watching.
In private, she reminded me how lucky I was to have a husband who supported my little business.
I answered before Camille could stop me.
“Nia,” she said. “Andre told me there was a misunderstanding.”
I stared at the credit notice.
“He has another woman living in a house we paid for.”
“Men sometimes make foolish choices.”
“This wasn’t foolish. It was planned.”
“You don’t throw away seven years because you’re embarrassed.”
Camille held out her hand for the phone.
I shook my head.
“Did you know?”
Renee was quiet.
Too quiet.
“Did you know about Tasha?”
“He said things between you were difficult.”
I closed my eyes.
“You came to our anniversary dinner.”
“Nia—”
“You raised a glass.”
“I was hoping he would do the right thing.”
“You let me sit there smiling.”
Her voice hardened.
“Be careful. Anger can cost a woman more than she expects.”
I ended the call.
For a moment, the studio was silent except for the refrigerator humming in the corner.
Then a message arrived from Tasha.
I didn’t know who else to tell. He’s calling me nonstop.
Another followed.
There’s a reason I was at the house this morning.
I stared at the screen.
Three little dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally, her message came through.
I’m pregnant.
I put the phone down carefully.
May you like
Then I looked at Camille.
She knew before I said a word.
