Chapter 4 - The $6,500 Family Tax
I read the page twice.
Mortgage contribution.
Groceries.
Madison's medical transportation.
Future childcare.
Eric's "business recovery."
Diane's household assistance.
There was even a line for something called family emergency reserve.
Total expected from me every month:
$6,500.
I placed the paper down.
"Who created this?"
Diane smiled.
"We did."
"We?"
"Eric and I."
Madison was drinking orange juice.
She avoided my eyes.
"And why would I pay this?"
Diane's expression suggested she was explaining arithmetic to a child.
"Because you earn the most."
I turned toward Eric.
He had just entered the kitchen.
"You agreed to this?"
He poured coffee.
"It's temporary."
"Everything seems temporary when I'm paying for it."
Diane sighed.
"There you go again."
I picked up the paper.
Then tore it in half.
Once.
Twice.
Four pieces.
I dropped them into the trash.
Nobody spoke.
Then I walked upstairs.
I heard Diane whisper behind me.
"She needs to be taught a lesson."
For the first time, the sentence didn't frighten me.
It clarified things.
That afternoon, Rachel filed the first formal paperwork relating to our separation.
We arranged for me to stay at a furnished apartment beginning the following week.
I moved my jewelry, documents, sentimental items, work equipment, and anything irreplaceable into storage.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Eric noticed almost nothing.
That was perhaps the saddest part.
I could remove pieces of my life from our marriage and he barely looked up.
Three days later, Monica conducted the inspection while everyone was away.
The house passed.
The buyer's financing wasn't an issue because the offer was cash.
Closing remained on schedule.
Eleven days.
Then nine.
Then seven.
The countdown became something I carried privately.
Meanwhile, Diane became bolder.
She ordered nursery furniture using Eric's credit card.
She scheduled a cleaning service and told them to bill me.
I canceled it.
She invited relatives for Sunday brunch.
I left.
When I returned, eighteen people were in my backyard.
Someone had moved my patio furniture onto the lawn.
Children were running through my flowerbeds.
Diane saw me through the kitchen doors.
"There she is!"
Conversation quieted.
I stepped inside.
An aunt I barely knew hugged me.
"Diane says you're letting Madison stay through the baby's first year. That's so generous."
I looked at Diane.
Her smile froze.
"Did she?"
Diane approached quickly.
"Can I speak with you?"
"No."
Her voice lowered.
"Don't embarrass me."
That phrase.
Again.
Everything was about humiliation when I resisted.
Never about respect.
I looked at the relatives.
"Madison won't be living here for a year."
Silence.
Madison stood near the counter.
"What?"
Diane grabbed my arm.
Not hard.
But possessively.
I removed her hand.
"This isn't the time," she whispered.
"Then stop making plans involving my property."
Eric appeared from outside.
"What's going on?"
"Your wife is causing a scene," Diane said.
I almost smiled.
"My wife."
Interesting how I became his wife whenever Diane wanted him to control me.
Eric pulled me toward the hallway.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"You deliberately embarrassed Mom."
"She told eighteen people they could make plans involving my house."
"Our house."
"No."
He stared at me.
Something in my voice finally registered.
"What do you mean, no?"
I held his gaze.
"This house has never legally been yours."
His face went pale.
Behind him, Diane had entered the hallway.
She heard me.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at her.
"I purchased this property before marrying Eric."
"You're married. It belongs to both of you."
"No."
Diane laughed.
But the sound was uncertain.
Eric stepped closer.
"What are you doing?"
"Correcting misinformation."
His eyes searched my face.
For the first time since the night at the dining table, I saw fear.
Not remorse.
Fear.
He knew me well enough to understand something was happening.
He simply didn't know what.
That evening, he searched my office.
I knew because I had placed a tiny piece of clear tape across the document cabinet.
When I returned, it was broken.
The fireproof box was gone.
Or rather, the box he thought contained my documents was gone.
I had moved the originals days earlier.
The box contained copies.
Eric confronted me in the bedroom.
"Where are the original house papers?"
"Why?"
"Just answer me."
"No."
"Are you planning something?"
I looked at him.
"Why would you think that?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because you've been acting weird."
I almost laughed.
Apparently, quietly preparing to leave after being struck by your spouse qualified as acting weird.
He stepped closer.
I raised my phone.
"Rachel advised me to record any conversation where I feel unsafe."
He stopped instantly.
That told me everything.
He knew exactly how his behavior looked when someone else might see it.
Eric backed away.
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
He left.
Five days remained until closing.
The following morning, however, my phone rang at 6:12.
It was Monica.
Her voice was tense.
"Someone contacted the buyer."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
"We don't know yet."
"What did they say?"
"They claimed you don't have authority to sell the house without your husband's permission."
I closed my eyes.
Eric had figured it out.
Or Diane had.
Either way, the secret was over.
May you like
And now the countdown had become a war.
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