Chapter 4

At nine the next morning, I locked my office door and began the final budget presentation for the new six-month project.

The consulting agreement had been signed the previous week, but the client would not authorize the project launch until its executive sponsor approved my budget and security plan.

The contract contained strict confidentiality terms covering its costs, vendor rates, and launch schedule.

I had spent three weeks preparing for that meeting.

I was explaining the budget when someone knocked.

“Aunt Erin.”

I kept talking.

The handle turned twice, followed by Sophie’s voice.

“Mom said we could come in.”

I muted myself. “No. Go find your mother.”

The door opened anyway.

Sophie ran in carrying a box of markers. Liam followed with a school form in his hand. The dog squeezed between them and crashed into my file rack.

Several folders hit the floor.

“Erin, is everything okay?” the client asked.

I steadied the rack and unmuted myself.

“I’m sorry. Something unexpected came up at home.”

The dog grabbed a printout and ran. Liam chased him, hitting the back of my chair. The presentation jumped to the wrong slide.

The client paused.

“Why don’t we continue another day?”

“I can still—”

“Send me a new time.”

The call ended.

I stared at the blank screen. It had been my first formal presentation to the executive sponsor responsible for approving the project’s launch.

Kelly appeared in the doorway, already wearing her coat. Her car keys hung from one finger.

“Great, you’re here.” She set a backpack on the floor. “Liam gets out at three ten, and Sophie at three thirty. The pickup locations are on this paper.”

I picked up the printout the dog had crumpled.

“Where are you going?”

“I have training this morning and an interview this afternoon. Didn’t Tom tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That you’d handle school pickup while I’m looking for work.”

“I never agreed to that.”

Kelly checked her watch.

“Tom said you make your own schedule, so helping occasionally wouldn’t be a problem. I can’t miss an interview because no one can collect the kids.”

“You should have asked me first.”

“I was busy moving yesterday.”

She turned toward the stairs.

I followed her. “Kelly, I’m telling you clearly. I cannot watch them today.”

She kept going.

A moment later, the front door closed.

I ran to the window. Kelly was already in her car. I called her, but she looked at her phone and drove away.

I called Tom.

“Kelly left the children here.”

“She has training today.”

“I’m working too. They just interrupted my meeting, and the client ended the call.”

“Then reschedule. Isn’t flexibility the whole point of working from home?”

“Flexibility doesn’t mean I’m available to babysit whenever you decide.”

Tom lowered his voice. “Just help today. Kelly needs this job.”

“I need my job too.”

“I can’t leave work, Erin. We can’t leave them alone.”

Before hanging up, he reminded me that Liam had reading homework.

I canceled the rest of my morning work and took the children downstairs. I locked my office again and put the key in my pocket so the dog couldn’t get back inside.

That afternoon, I made two school runs, prepared lunch and snacks, and sent the client an apology.

Kelly returned after six and set a takeout bag on the kitchen counter.

“The interview went well. They’ll call me next week.”

She didn’t ask about my meeting.

That night, after the children were in bed, I logged into our bank account to check the moving company’s extra charges.

The balance in our anniversary travel account was $612.

I refreshed the page.

The number didn’t change.

Three months earlier, we had nearly $18,000 in that account—the entire amount Tom and I had saved for our twenty-fifth-anniversary trip.

There were three large transfers.

$7,200.

$4,800.

$5,400.

Every payment had gone to Kelly Brooks.

Tom entered the kitchen as I opened the final transaction.

I turned the laptop toward him.

“Where did the $17,400 go?”

He saw Kelly’s name on the screen and stopped.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

“Tom.”

His hand closed around the back of the empty chair.

“I can explain.”