“She understands. She just doesn’t agree.”
He sighed.
“When Dad left, Mom started treating me like her little man. She told me everything—money, work, relationships. I thought that meant she trusted me.”
“Maybe she did.”
“Maybe. But I think she got used to believing we were a team.”
I took his hand.
“You don’t have to solve forty years tonight.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“But taking her door off was satisfying.”
I laughed.
We finally fell asleep.
At six-thirty, I woke to the printer downstairs.
Grace was in Harold’s office.
Papers covered the desk.
Then I saw my name.
EMMA COLLINS.
Harold picked up a page.
His expression changed.
It was my old bank statement.
One deposit was circled.
$38,000.
“What is this?” Harold asked.
“My grandmother gave me that money.”
“I thought you told me twenty.”
“I said I was using twenty for our down payment.”
“Where did the other eighteen go?”
