Inside were copies of the bank statements, the insurance records, the clinic report, and a letter from my attorney.
He stood in the doorway.
“What’s this?”
“Documentation.”
He opened the folder.
His face tightened.
“You’re getting a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Paula, you’re taking this too far.”
I looked at him.
“Our daughter spent weeks in pain. You knew a doctor had found a mass. You refused the recommended hospital evaluation. You let our insurance lapse. And then you told her to keep it from me.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You made several.”
“I was scared.”
“So was Sadie.”
He sat down.
“I can fix the money.”
“That’s not the point anymore.”
“I’ll repay everything.”
“You should.”
He looked at me.
“Are you leaving me?”
I took a long breath.
“I don’t know what the future looks like. But I know I can’t continue living as though this was an ordinary argument about money.”
