Chapter 6
Dinner passed in a thick, heavy silence—shared, but not awkward.
Carson barely said a word. He kept his head down, taking each bite slowly, deliberately, like he was scared to waste a single crumb.
There was a quiet reverence in the way he ate, like the simple meal in front of him was something sacred, not just plain home cooking.
I knew he was using the slow, deliberate motions to hide his vulnerability, to keep the tears from spilling over again.
When we finished, I stood up to clear the dishes. He followed silently, hanging around behind me, his gaze fixed on my hands as I rinsed and dried each plate, stacking them neatly in the cabinet.
It wasn't until I'd put away the last plate, dried my hands on a kitchen towel, and turned to face him that he finally spoke up.
"We need to talk," he said.
His voice was back to its usual cool, steady tone, but there was a weight to it now—heavy with truth, with fear, with all the loss he'd endured.
I nodded.
"Alright."
We walked back to the tiny living room and sat on the worn fabric couch, leaving a wide, awkward gap between us—like neither of us was ready to close that distance just yet.
"How much cash do we have left?" I cut to the chase.
It was the most urgent question—the one that would dictate every choice we made next.
He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, dumping every last bill and coin onto the coffee table.
A small stack of crumpled bills and loose change glinted faintly under the dim lamp.
"One thousand and ninety dollars," he said, his voice flat as he stated the exact amount.
"That's all we have right now—no more, no less."
One thousand and ninety dollars.
Once, that wouldn't have covered even the tax on one of my designer handbags.
It wouldn't have paid for a single round of drinks with his old buddies at their favorite upscale bar.
But now, that measly sum was all we had to get by on, for the foreseeable future.
"Is it just your personal bank account that's frozen?" I asked, pressing for more details.
"Every account—company, investments, even the high-limit credit cards—all frozen," he replied without hesitation.
He'd clearly already gone through the painful process of tallying up his losses, of facing just how far he'd fallen.
"What about the debts?" I asked, leaning forward a little.
That was the real kicker, the shadow hanging over everything.
I stared at him, waiting for his answer.
He went silent.
The air in the living room turned icy, thick with unspoken tension.
He kept his eyes down, his long lashes casting dark shadows over his cheeks, hiding whatever turmoil was churning in his gaze.
I thought he might never answer—might clam up and shut down—until he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Company debts, bank loans, some personal loans from old contacts..."
He paused, swallowing hard, like the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"All in all, it's in the nine figures."
Nine figures.
Hundreds of millions of dollars—maybe more.
Even though I'd braced myself for the worst, my heart still sank, a cold weight settling in my chest.
The number was astronomical, impossible to wrap my head around.
It was the kind of debt that could crush a person, that left them with no hope of ever climbing out.
'It's like there's a huge boulder called "debt" sitting on Daddy's chest, and he can barely breathe.
'He's scared he'll chase you away.
'He thinks you'll pack your bags and split as soon as you hear how bad it is.'
The baby's tiny voice whispered in my mind, trembling with worry.
I took a slow, deep breath, forcing down the panic, forcing myself to stay calm.
I looked at Carson again. There was no dramatic despair on his face—just a bone-deep, soul-weary exhaustion.