Chapter 3
By 2:00 PM the next day, the net began to tighten.
I was sitting in the drivers' lounge at the central bus depot when my supervisor, Frank, walked in with a tight, apologetic look on his face. Behind him stood my husband, holding a massive bouquet of white lilies.
"Kat," Frank said, scratching his neck. "Your husband came by. We need to talk about your schedule."
Declan walked over, placing the heavy bouquet on the metal breakroom table. He looked around the shabby room with subtle disgust before settling his eyes on me, glowing with solemn, heroic concern.
"I spoke with the PTA board and the school district administration this morning, sweetheart," Declan said, his voice loud enough for the three other bus drivers to hear. "Several parents submitted formal concerns about your emotional state while driving the children. They said you looked... exhausted. Distracted."
My hands rested flat against the cool tabletop. "Exhausted?"
"I defended you, of course," Declan said smoothly, pressing a warm hand over mine. "But as PTA President, safety comes first. I've arranged a mandatory paid leave for you. Effective immediately."
One of the older drivers, Sarah, frowned in the corner. "Kat hasn't missed a day in six years, Mr. Vance. Her safety record is flawless."
"And I want to keep her safe," Declan cut in gently, squeezing my hand tightly -- so tightly the bone pressed against my cheap wedding band. "My wife has been carrying too much stress lately. She needs rest. I'm stepping up to handle everything at home."
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an authorization paper. "I've also transferred our household accounts under my direct signature to spare you the burden of managing bills during your recovery," he added, dropping the paper onto the table.
He was stripping my independence piece by piece. First my job -- my daily movement across town. Then my access to money.
He watched my face, waiting for the explosion. He expected me to cry, to scream, to make a scene in front of my co-workers so he could point and say, See? She's unstable.
I looked down at the white lilies on the table. In traditional etiquette, white lilies were for funerals. How thoughtful of him to buy flowers for his own social burial.
I lifted my eyes and met his triumphant gaze. My face was a smooth, unreadable sheet of ice.
"Thank you, Declan," I said, offering a soft, compliant smile. "You're right. I really do need a break."
Declan blinked, taken aback by the total lack of resistance. "You... you agree?"
"Of course," I said, picking up the lilies. "You've worked so hard for this family. I'll listen to you."
He smiled, relieved, believing he had broken my spirit.
He didn't notice that while I reached for the flowers with my left hand, my right hand quietly slipped my personal driver logbook into my purse -- the physical record tracking every unauthorized off-route mile Declan had forced me to run for his personal errands.
After he left for his office, I walked two miles through the freezing drizzle to 5th Street, meeting Mack -- a senior depot mechanic who had serviced district buses for fifteen years.
[Days Remaining: 29]
"I can't steal official files for you, Kat," Mack grunted under the dim garage light. "I'll get fired."
"I don't need you to steal," I said, sliding my remaining cash across his greasy workbench. "Just print the public maintenance and fuel logs for the vehicles Declan authorized under PTA accounts."