Chapter 3

When Emma came over, she was even more straightforward than David. She walked in, flopped onto the couch, claimed to be exhausted, and told me to pour her a glass of water.

Then, without looking up from her phone, she added, "Mom, Susan's been really stressed about her thesis lately. If you have time, maybe check in on her now and then."

I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her. "Why me?"

Emma looked up, completely matter-of-fact. "She's Dad's student, so she's pretty much part of the family. You already do so much. Having her around won't make a difference."

"How is she part of the family?"

"Mom, why are you acting this way?" She frowned. "Dad's helping her, and she respects you. It's meant to be. Don't act like a stranger."

I brought her a glass of warm water, set it down beside her, then sat back down in my chair and picked up my book.

"Emma," I said without looking up, "how many students does your dad have?"

"How would I know?"

"Then why are you only bringing up Susan to me?"

Emma opened her mouth but couldn't find the words.

I flipped another page in my book. "If you want more water, help yourself in the kitchen."

When Emma left, she didn't look too happy. While putting on her shoes at the door, I heard her make a call in a low voice. "Yeah, I got it," she said, and then the door shut.

I didn't need to guess who she was calling.

That night, I sat down with a fresh notebook and slowly went over every detail I could remember from the past three years, carefully writing them out. By the time I finished, it was already midnight.

I closed the notebook, locked it away, and sat at my desk, quietly watching the snow fall outside the window.

I remembered the first winter I spent in that cramped apartment in my previous life. The heating barely worked, so I bought thick pajamas and used two blankets to keep warm at night.

Every holiday, I'd always be the first to text David and Emma, asking when they'd be coming home, or if they wanted me to send anything when they couldn't make it.

They'd always reply, [No, thanks, Mom,] followed by a smiley face emoji.

Not once did they ever ask how I was doing.

Back then, I thought they were busy and that, as their mom, I shouldn't make things harder for them.

Now, I realized it wasn't that they were busy. It was that they didn't care.

Before the real storm rolled in, Michael and I had a face-off.

It all started with a transaction in the account.

When my pre-marital savings matured, I moved the principal and the interest into my own account. I didn't give Michael a heads-up.

He spotted it while checking the account on his phone, and that evening after dinner, he called me over to the living room. "Where did the money go?"

"What money?" I said, turning around with the dishcloth still in my hand.

"The account's short," he said, his voice tense. "Where did you move it?"

"It was my pre-marital savings. The deposit matured, so I put it in a new account," I answered. "Is that a problem?"

"In a marriage," he paused, "we should be open about our finances."

I folded the dishcloth, hung it up, then walked back to the living room and sat down across from him.

"Michael," I said, being straightforward for the first time in this life, "that money was saved before we got married. You and I both know it."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have kept it a secret from me."

"I wasn't hiding anything," I replied. "You never asked, and I never brought it up. That's us keeping things separate."

I paused. "Like those student aid payments you sent out every month for years. You never bothered to mention those to me, right?"

His face froze for a second, but he quickly pulled himself together. "That was to help students. I told you, and you supported it."

"Yeah, I did," I said. "So what?"

He looked at me, and for a split second, I caught a hint of uneasy guilt in his eyes. It was so subtle that he probably didn't realize it himself.

"You've changed a lot lately."

"How?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

I stood up. "If you're tired, you should get some rest. You're teaching tomorrow."

It was the first time in my life that I saw Michael lose his usual air of certainty directly in front of me.

It was only for a split second, but I saw it.