There were dozens.
Every request contradicted his claim that he had not known where the money came from.
Then Amanda found something worse.
Three months before the dinner, Thomas had asked me to transfer a large amount into our joint savings account for what he called a future home renovation.
The money had never gone to a contractor.
Instead, two transfers left the account within forty-eight hours.
One went to pay Brenda’s overdue credit-card debt.
The other went toward a car registered in her name.
Thomas had never told me.
When Amanda showed me the statements, my first reaction was disbelief.
“Maybe there is an explanation.”
She waited.
That sentence sounded familiar because I had used it for years.
Maybe Brenda was stressed.
Maybe Thomas was tired.
Maybe his mother didn’t understand.
Maybe they did not realize how their words affected me.
Explanations had become the walls of the room I lived in.
