Chapter 5
The signature looked like mine from a distance.
Up close, the loops were too smooth.
My name had been copied carefully by someone who knew what it should resemble but not how my hand moved.
I stared at the document on Evelyn’s desk.
Tasha sat across from me.
It was the first time I had seen her since the porch.
She wore a loose sweater and kept both hands around a paper cup of water.
Neither of us pretended this was comfortable.
Evelyn explained that the document Tasha had received was not proof that ownership had actually changed.
It was proof of what Andre had represented to her.
That difference mattered.
I had spent the night imagining myself locked out of everything.
Now I could at least separate a threat from a completed act.
“He said we would file the rest after the renovation,” Tasha said.
“Did you have your own lawyer review it?” Evelyn asked.
Tasha shook her head.
“He said it would cost more than it was worth.”
I recognized that sentence.
Andre had used it when I wanted someone to review a supplier contract.
Evelyn slid the paper into a folder.
“We’ll preserve the original and obtain the relevant records.”
Tasha looked at me.
“I should have checked.”
“Yes,” I said.
Her face crumpled.
I looked down at my own hands.
“So should I.”
Silence settled between us.
Not forgiveness.
Something more honest than blame.
She pulled out her phone.
“He told me you were taking medication because you couldn’t accept the separation.”
I stared at her.
“He said you might contact me and invent things.”
My mouth went dry.
Andre had once suggested counseling after an argument about his late nights.
I had thanked him for caring.
Now I wondered whether he had been gathering details to turn against me.
“I went to therapy because my father died,” I said.
Tasha covered her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“My grief wasn’t evidence that I was unstable.”
“I know that now.”
Evelyn let the silence stand.
Then she asked Tasha about the money.
It had come from an inheritance her grandmother left her.
Forty thousand dollars.
Almost all of it.
“He said we were building something,” she whispered.
I looked toward the window.
I had said those exact words to myself while working late at the studio.
We were building something.
I just had not known I was building it for someone else.
When the meeting ended, Tasha followed me into the hallway.
“I’m not asking you to like me.”
“Good.”
She nodded.
“I’m getting my own lawyer. My cousin found someone.”
“That’s sensible.”
“And I’m not going back to him.”
I studied her face.
“You don’t owe me that decision.”
“I owe it to myself.”
For the first time, I believed she understood what had happened.
My phone rang as I walked to Camille’s car.
Renee.
I let it go unanswered.
She called again.
Then sent a message.
We need to handle this as a family before outsiders make it worse.
I forwarded it to Evelyn.
That felt cold.
It also felt necessary.
At the studio, a customer named Mrs. Carter was waiting beside her restored dining table.
She was one of my oldest clients.
I had forgotten her pickup appointment.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “It’s been a difficult week.”
She studied me.
“Is the table ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve kept your promise.”
Those words almost undid me.
I helped her son load the table.
Before she left, she pressed my hand.
“Whatever else is happening, don’t let somebody convince you that your work stopped being good.”
I watched their car pull away.
Then I went inside and finished a chair.
One chair.
Not my marriage.
Not the debt.
One thing I knew how to repair.
That evening, Camille came with dinner and a stack of statements.
We worked at the long assembly table.
A pattern emerged.
Transfers from my business.
Payments from our joint account.
Tasha’s money.
All flowing toward the same property and Andre’s separate company.
But there was another name.
Renee Hale.
Several payments had gone to her.
I stared at the total.
Eleven thousand dollars.
“For what?” I whispered.
Camille shook her head.
“We don’t know yet.”
I called Renee.
This time, she answered immediately.
“Finally. Are you ready to be reasonable?”
“What were the eleven thousand dollars for?”
Silence.
“Renee.”
“Your husband helps me sometimes.”
“With money from my studio?”
“You don’t understand how families work.”
I looked at the chair I had finished.
At my hands, still marked with stain.
“I understand that I earned it.”
“You benefited from my son’s connections.”
“I built that business before I married him.”
“And he made it respectable.”
The words landed cleanly.
For years, she had wrapped that belief in smiles.
Now there was no wrapping.
I held the phone tighter.
“Did you know where the money came from?”
“Ask your husband.”
“He won’t answer.”
“Then stop asking questions that will hurt everyone.”
I ended the call.
Camille watched me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I sat down.
“But I think I’m finally hearing them clearly.”
A notification appeared on my laptop.
A new email from a supplier.
Payment overdue. Final notice before account suspension.
I opened the attachment.
Andre had marked the invoice paid in our bookkeeping system.
The supplier had received nothing.
Camille leaned over my shoulder.
“How many vendors do you have?”
I looked at the unfinished orders around us.
The chairs.
The dressers.
The materials I still needed.
For the first time, I saw how close he had brought me to losing more than a marriage.
May you like
“Too many,” I said.
Then I opened the next invoice.
