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“Did you transfer the joint savings too?” I asked.
“Every cent. You signed the account agreement. My lawyer says there’s nothing you can do.”
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Vanessa lifted her champagne. “Maybe the library is hiring.”
I’d abandoned financial investigations after marrying Grant. He liked calling me his quiet wife who “used to do some accounting.”
I had allowed that description to stand because I wanted him to feel valued. I mistook his need to seem superior for something harmless, even loving.
When my father died, Grant held my hand throughout the funeral and promised I would never have to face another hardship by myself.
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For years I trusted him enough to overlook the sharpness beneath his jokes. Looking back from that doorway, I finally understood that every insult had been a warning.
