She cried harder.
Then came the part I never expected.
“Can you come get me?”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“Derek left.”
“Where are you?”
“Hilton Head.”
“You want me to drive eight hours because the man you left with went home?”
“I don’t want to be here alone.”
For a moment, pity moved through me so strongly that I nearly said yes. Eleven years of marriage had trained me to respond when Melissa sounded frightened. Then I remembered that being compassionate did not require becoming responsible for consequences she had chosen.
“You’re safe?”
“Yes.”
“You have money?”
“Yes.”
“Then book a flight.”
Her voice broke. “Patrick, please.”
“Your belongings are still here.”
“Does that mean I can come home?”
“It means I’m not illegally locking you out.”
She inhaled sharply.
“We are not going back to normal.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“It’s already happening.”
“I love you.”
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“You should have said that before you needed rescue.”
Then I ended the call.
Melissa returned Sunday evening instead of Monday. A rideshare dropped her in front of the house around seven-thirty, and she pulled the same suitcase up the driveway with none of the confidence she had carried two days earlier. She wore gray sweatpants, sneakers, and a sweatshirt from a conference we attended together years ago. I watched from the living room until she reached the door.
She entered with her key.
The navy folder was waiting on the kitchen table.
Beside it sat copies of the bank statements.
Melissa looked at both, then at me.
“Can we talk?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised her.
We sat across from each other.
She asked whether I had told friends. I had not. She asked whether my family knew. My brother knew only that we were separating because I needed somebody aware of the situation in case emotions became unpredictable.
Then I asked the question Nathan told me not to guess about.
“How much money?”
Melissa looked down.
“How much did you move?”
She rubbed both hands against her knees.
“Twenty-nine thousand.”
“I found eighteen.”
“The rest wasn’t directly from savings.”
“From where?”
“Bonuses.”
I stared at her.
Bonuses she had repeatedly told me were going into the renovation fund.