Megan set her mug down on the low side table. Her fingers began to tap a rapid, rhythmic beat against the wicker armrest, a familiar habit of hers when she was waiting for someone to finish a thought.
“Derek called my house yesterday,” Megan said, her eyes tracking a dry leaf as it skittered across the porch floor. “He wanted to know if we had lunch plans.”
“We did not,” I said.
“I told him that. But his voice sounded different, Emily. He was very polite, but he asked three times if I knew where you had parked your car.”
I reached out to adjust the collar of my coat, and the movement caused my sleeve to slide up my arm. The pale fabric caught on my watch, exposing the dark, purple-gray band of skin just above my joint.
Megan stopped tapping her fingers. She reached out and took my hand, her thumb gently pushing the wool sleeve back another two inches.
Five distinct oval marks encircled my forearm, turning green at the edges.
“Did you fall?” Megan asked, her voice dropping its rapid cadence.
“I cleared some heavy branches in the yard,” I said, pulling my arm back and smoothing the wool down. “I am just clumsy lately.”
“Emily, those are fingers.”
“It was an accident, Megan. We were moving the old dining room table to clean behind it.”
Megan looked at me for a long moment, her eyes searching my face before she picked up her tea again. The tea was lukewarm now, a thin film forming on the surface.
“My door is always unlocked,” Megan said softly. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” I said, looking down at the marigolds in the flat.
The drive back to Maple Street felt longer than usual, the gray Buick hummed as I turned onto our street. Derek’s car was already in the driveway, parked at an angle that blocked the garage door.
Inside, the kitchen smelled of stale coffee and toast. Derek stood by the sink, rinsing a single plate under the running water. He did not turn around when the floorboards creaked behind him.
“The bank said the money was taken from the drive-through,” I said, standing near the refrigerator.
Derek turned off the faucet. He slowly rolled his shoulders backward, a deliberate motion that straightened his spine. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel, taking his time with each finger.
“You should not be going to the bank without telling me,” Derek said, his voice a smooth, low drawl.
“It was my personal savings, Derek. Eight thousand dollars that my aunt left me.”
“It is our money, Emily. We are married. We have bills to pay that you do not even think about.”
“The utility bills are paid through the checking account,” I said, taking a step backward until my lower back pressed against the laminate counter. “Where did the eight thousand go?”
Derek crossed the kitchen in three quick strides. He did not raise his hand, but his fingers clamped around my left wrist, precisely over the bruises Megan had seen three hours ago. He squeezed until the skin beneath his grip turned white.
“You do not want to start asking questions you cannot handle the answers to, Emily,” he said, his face inches from mine.
I did not scream. I looked at the small mole near his left temple, focusing on that single spot until the pressure on my bones eased.
He released my arm with a sudden upward jerk, sending my hand colliding with the edge of the kitchen table. He picked up his car keys from the counter and walked out, leaving the kitchen door half-open.
I stood there for several minutes, listening to the engine of his car start in the driveway and fade as he drove down Maple Street.
Upstairs, the bedroom was quiet. The afternoon light was gone, replaced by the gray shadows of early evening.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled my phone from my coat pocket. My wrist was swollen now, the skin puffing up around the dark marks.
I opened the phone and went to the application store, searching for a standard notepad app that looked like a grocery list. I downloaded it, setting a four-digit passcode that was different from my birthday or our anniversary.
Inside the app, I created a new note and titled it Weekly Pantry.
I held the phone in my right hand, steadying my left arm against my knee. The bedroom was silent except for the sound of my own breath.
I aligned the camera lens with the dark circle on my skin.
The quiet click of the phone camera capturing the red marks on my skin sounded loud in the empty house.
I tucked the phone back into my cardigan pocket, the plastic casing still warm against my thigh.
Derek was already sitting at the dining room table, his fingers tracing the edge of his water glass while Linda set down a bowl of steamed carrots. The dining room felt smaller with the curtains drawn, the yellow light from the chandelier reflecting off the polished dark oak of the table.
“Sit down, Emily,” Derek said, his voice carrying that familiar, slow drawl. “My mother went to the trouble of bringing over a pot roast, and it is getting cold.”
I took my seat opposite Linda, my hands resting in my lap where I could secretly pull the cuffs of my gray wool sweater down over my wrists. The silver watch my father had given me years ago sat heavy on my left arm, a reminder of a time when my days belonged to me.
“The roast looks wonderful, Linda,” I said, though my throat felt tight and dry.
“It is a family recipe,” Linda said, her fingers instantly darting to her throat to adjust her heavy gold necklace. “Derek always loved it when he was growing up in Columbus. A growing boy needs proper meals.”
Derek smiled, but it did not reach his eyes as he picked up the serving fork. “Emily has been a bit distracted lately, Mom. I think she is forgetting to buy groceries half the time.”
“I am not distracted, Derek,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “But we need to talk about the savings account.”
The silver fork clinked against the edge of the ceramic bowl as Derek set it down.
“What about it?” he asked, not looking at me.
“It is empty,” I said. “The entire eight thousand dollars is gone.”
Linda stopped her hand mid-air, her spoon hovering over the carrots before she set it down with a soft click.
Derek chuckled, a low, wet sound that made my stomach tighten, and took a slow sip of his water. “You always were terrible with numbers, Emily. You probably bought those expensive gardening supplies or spent it on those online classes you never finished.”
“I did not spend eight thousand dollars,” I said, looking directly at his face. “The bank teller told me the money was withdrawn at the drive-through over the last three weeks.”
“Tellers make mistakes all the time,” Derek said, his voice flat and perfectly calm as he began slicing his meat. “And since you are the one who handles the household folders, you probably just misplaced the statements. Let it go.”
Linda cleared her throat, her head bobbing in a series of rapid nods. “Derek is right, dear. You really should keep better track of your little projects before you start making wild accusations at dinner.”
“It was my personal savings, Linda,” I said, turning to her. “The money my grandmother left me.”
“A marriage has rules, Emily,” Linda said, her face tightening as she looked at her plate. “And questioning your husband’s bank transactions is not one of them.”
I looked at her, hoping for some flicker of sympathy, but she was busy cutting her meat into small, uniform squares.
“I need to know where the money went,” I said.
Derek set his knife down with a sharp clank that made the water glasses ring. “I told you to let it go, Emily. We are not discussing our private household business in front of my mother.”
The room went entirely quiet, save for the scrape of Linda’s fork against her plate.
After dinner, the silence followed me into the kitchen, where the sink was already filled with soapy water. I stood with my back to the doorway, letting the heat of the water numb the tips of my fingers as I washed the grease from the roasting pan.
Linda stepped into the room a moment later, carrying the empty gravy boat. She did not set it on the counter; instead, she stood right beside me, her shoulder nearly touching mine.
“You need to stop this foolishness,” Linda whispered, her breath smelling of pot roast and mints.
“He took my savings, Linda,” I said, keeping my eyes on the white soap bubbles. “I have the right to know why.”
Linda gripped the edge of the laminate counter, her knuckles turning white under her manicured nails. “You are provoking him over pennies, Emily. A good wife knows when to stay quiet and keep the peace.”
“Eight thousand dollars is not pennies,” I said, turning the faucet off so the kitchen was suddenly dead quiet. “And it is not just the money.”
I pulled my left sleeve up slightly, letting the edge of the dark purple bruise on my wrist show against the white porcelain of the sink.
Linda looked directly at my arm for a fraction of a second, her eyes widening before she instantly snapped her gaze back to the window above the sink. Her fingers flew to her gold necklace, twisting the chain until her skin turned pink.
“I have never seen any marks on you, Emily,” Linda said, her voice rising in a rapid, defensive cadence. “And I do not want to hear another word of this nonsense. Derek is a good provider.”
“Linda, please,” I whispered.