Chapter 3 - WHAT HE CALLED HELP
I answered on speaker.
“What did you send my father?”
Roland went quiet.
Then: “You’re upset. We shouldn’t do this tonight.”
“You used my email.”
“It was a draft.”
“My father received it.”
“I was trying to get his attention.”
Dad stood to leave, but I caught his sleeve.
Stay.
Roland heard the movement.
“Is he listening?”
“Yes.”
“Of course he is.”
“Answer me.”
He exhaled sharply.
“The company needed cash. Your father invests in businesses. I thought we could keep it in the family.”
“Then why pretend to be me?”
“Because you make asking him impossible.”
There it was.
Somehow, his decision had become my flaw.
I looked at the email again.
“You wrote that I needed you to have the money.”
“You were eight months pregnant. I was handling things.”
“What things?”
“Everything, Simone. Work. Bills. Your appointments.”
“You came to two appointments.”
“I can’t believe we’re keeping score.”
Dad’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.
I made myself ask the question.
“Did you answer messages from my father?”
“I told him we needed space.”
“As me?”
“I knew what you wanted.”
“No. You knew what you wanted him to believe.”
Wren stirred in the bassinet. I leaned over her, touching her little fist.
Roland softened his voice.
“Come home. Mom was out of line. I’ll talk to her.”
“This isn’t just about your mother.”
“Then don’t make it bigger than it is.”
I ended the call.
For a moment, the only sound was Wren’s uneven newborn breathing.
Dad stared at the floor.
“I should have come over.”
“You thought I asked you not to.”
“I still should have found a way to hear your voice.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault.
I also wanted to ask why both of us had let Roland become the person who explained us to each other.
Instead, I opened my banking app.
Roland handled the bills. I handled groceries, savings, and the small details that filled a household.
Our emergency account had held eighteen thousand four hundred dollars before I went into labor.
Now it held eighty-three dollars and eleven cents.
I refreshed the screen.
Nothing changed.
The transfer date was Wren’s birthday.
While I had been in a hospital bed, asking why our daughter hadn’t cried yet, Roland had moved almost every dollar we had.
Dad saw my face.
“What is it?”
I turned the phone toward him.
May you like
Before he could answer, another message appeared.
Celeste: A decent wife would help her husband fix this instead of running to Daddy.
