Mom started calling me her little man.”
I stayed quiet.
“She told me everything. Money problems. Dating problems. Work problems. Things a child shouldn’t have been carrying.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I thought that meant she trusted me.”
“Maybe she did.”
“Maybe.”
Then he looked toward the hallway.
“But I think she also got used to believing we were a team. Like nobody was ever supposed to become more important to me than she was.”
I took his hand.
“You don’t have to solve forty years tonight.”
“No.”
Then he smiled.
“But taking her door off was satisfying.”
I laughed so hard I buried my face against his shoulder.
We finally fell asleep around two.
At six-thirty, I woke to cabinets opening downstairs.
For one ridiculous second, I thought Grace was making coffee.
Then I heard the printer.
Our printer.
Harold woke.
“Do you hear that?”
“Yes.”
Another sheet printed.
Then
another.
We went downstairs.
Grace was standing in Harold’s office.
Fully dressed.
Hair perfect.
Suitcase waiting near the front door.
And papers were spread across the desk.
Dozens of them.
At first, I assumed they were travel documents.
Then I saw my name.
**EMMA COLLINS.**
My stomach dropped.
“What is that?”
Grace looked up.
She didn’t look embarrassed.
She looked pleased.
Harold stepped past me and grabbed one page.
His expression changed.
“Mom.”
I reached for another.
It was a bank statement.
Not ours.
Mine.
An old account I had opened before Harold and I married.
“What the hell?”
My hands began shaking.
