Chapter 8 - Her Mother’s Money
The money came from Hannah.
She had saved from every paycheck, even while we were paying medical bills.
“School,” she had told me from her hospital bed.
“Or a terrible used car.
Or something she loves enough to work hard for.
Just make sure it’s hers.”
I called the bank’s fraud line from Nora’s office.
The request was still pending.
I froze the account.
Then I asked for the submission details.
Someone had used my online credentials from our home computer.
The description read: Educational residential placement.
Nora wrote it down.
“Who knew your password?”
“Rebecca had access to the password manager for household bills.”
“Did that include everything?”
I stared at the floor.
I already knew the answer.
We changed the passwords from a clean device, revoked active sessions, and locked down every account that could affect Emily.
By late afternoon, the immediate transfers were stopped.
But the Cedar Glen payment had already cleared weeks earlier.
Twelve thousand dollars.
From our joint wedding account.
The memo said floral balance.
Rebecca had disguised the first payment as part of our wedding.
I sat back in Nora’s chair.
“She made me pay to take my child away.”
Nora didn’t soften it.
“Yes.”
My phone rang again.
Rebecca.
Nora nodded toward the speaker button.
I answered.
“Where is Emily?”
“Safe.”
“You’re making this sound ugly.”
“It is ugly.”
“You don’t know what it’s been like living with her.”
Nora began taking notes.
I kept my voice steady.
“Then you should have left.”
“I loved you.”
“You told my daughter I didn’t want her.”
“She was never going to let us have a real marriage.”
There it was.
No tears.
No confusion.
Just resentment, finally spoken plainly.
“What did you think would happen today?”
Rebecca breathed hard into the phone.
“You would have married me.
We would have taken our honeymoon.
She would have settled in.”
“Without a goodbye?”
“Goodbyes make children difficult.”
I closed my eyes.
Nora placed a hand on the edge of the desk.
A reminder to keep listening.
Then Rebecca said something that made me open them.
“You can’t pretend you didn’t sign anything.”
“I didn’t.”
“The school packet, Daniel.
You signed every page I put in front of you.”
After the call ended, Nora looked at me.
“What school packet?”
I remembered a rainy Thursday.
May you like
A stack of forms beside my dinner.
And Rebecca saying, “Just sign the highlighted lines.”
