Chapter 2

By the time we drove home, the management photo had more than two hundred likes.

Wes waited for me to speak first.

Only after he pulled into the garage did he sigh.

"I know you were upset tonight, but Taryn's promotion is business. You are my wife. If you keep combining the two, you're only going to make this uglier than it needs to be."

"You combined them first." I turned toward him. "You gave her my seat and announced in front of the entire company that she was the person you trusted most. I don't care whether she deserves a promotion. I care that everyone knew except me."

He did not answer. He got out of the car and went inside.

As usual, Wes poured me a glass of water and set the blood pressure cuff on the dining table.

Lately, he liked using my doctor's instructions to end every disagreement. The moment he mentioned my blood pressure, the real problem became my inability to remain calm.

"Check it first. We can discuss everything else tomorrow," he said. "You haven't handled daily operations in six months. Some decisions can't be explained in three sentences in a garage. Taryn has worked late almost every night this year. I can't deny her a promotion because you don't like her."

"I stepped away because premature contractions put me in the hospital twice. My doctor ordered me to rest. I did not give up the company."

"I know." He pushed the cuff toward me. "That's why I haven't burdened you with any of this. Your priority is delivering a healthy baby. The company has to be managed by someone who can show up every day."

He made it sound considerate.

He also made my disappearance from the company sound inevitable.

"Part of that company belongs to me," I reminded him.

Wes frowned.

"I have never denied that you helped in the beginning. But this isn't a small operation in our garage anymore. Investing the first money eight years ago doesn't mean I need your permission for every decision I make now."

Helped in the beginning.

That was how he described eight years of savings, unpaid work, and marriage.

Wes fell asleep quickly that night. I sat in the guest room and opened our joint bank account.

Four months earlier, the company had suffered a sudden cash shortage the day after I was admitted for observation.

Wes had sat beside my hospital bed, holding my hand, and asked me to transfer forty-eight thousand dollars into the business. It was only a temporary loan, he had said. Once the client paid, every dollar would be returned before January.

That money was supposed to cover the delivery, our insurance deductible, and six months of living expenses after the baby came.

It had never been returned.

I opened the year-end statements the company still sent to my old email address and traced each payment until I found where it had gone.

Three days after my transfer, Taryn received a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus.

Her annual salary had also jumped from eighty-four thousand dollars to one hundred seventy-six thousand. The company had begun reimbursing her apartment rent, car expenses, and phone bill.

I checked the dates and amounts twice.

There was no mistake.

Wes had taken forty-eight thousand dollars we had set aside for our baby.

Three days later, more than half of it had landed in Taryn's account.

The payment memo did not say year-end bonus or project incentive.

Wes had written the message himself.

Thank you for always being beside me when I needed you most.