“Did she?”
“We share groceries.”
I opened the banking application on my phone and placed it face down before any details could be read.
I did not need to display the screen.
Desmond knew I kept every receipt and tracked every expense.
“The milk, yogurt, meat, juice, casserole ingredients, coffee, soup, and bread were mine,” I said.
“The wine, imported cheese, and premium steaks in your new refrigerator were yours.”
Desmond looked from one appliance to the other.
“You told me the grocery bill had gotten so high because Mom was eating the food you bought.”
Thalia’s face hardened.
“She does.”
“I’m at the hospital more than I’m home,” I said.
He opened the stainless-steel refrigerator and stared at the expensive contents.
Then he looked at the labels on mine.
“How did you pay for this refrigerator?” he asked.
Thalia hesitated.
That hesitation changed the room.
Desmond stepped closer.
“You said your mother helped.”
“She did help.”
“How much?”
Thalia picked up the label roll and began peeling at its edge.
I watched Desmond understand that the answer might involve money he believed they were saving.
“How much of our account did you use?” he asked.
“It was on sale.”
“How much?”
“Desmond, not now.”
He raised his voice for the first time.
“How much?”
“Three thousand eight hundred,” she said.
The silence afterward was absolute.
Desmond had told me two days earlier that they could not afford to contribute toward the electricity bill.
He gripped the chrome handle of the refrigerator.
“You spent almost four thousand dollars while I’m unemployed?”
“We needed it.”
“We already had a refrigerator.”
“That one is old.”
“It is three years old,” I said.
Thalia turned on me.
“Stay out of our finances.”
“You installed those finances in my kitchen.”
Desmond lowered his head.
I could see shame working through him, but shame was not the same as accountability.
Six months of silence had helped create that moment.
He had allowed every small disrespect because confronting his wife would have been uncomfortable.
I had allowed too much as well.
I took the attorney’s notice from the folder and handed one copy to each of them.
“The notice period begins tomorrow,” I said.
“The attorney will also send copies through the proper channels.
The sale is moving forward.”
Thalia scanned the page.
“This says we have thirty days.”
“Yes.”
“Closing is later than that.”
“Yes.”
“Then we can stay until closing.”
