Chapter 1
Day 47 of the renovation, I stared at the revised blueprint the designer sent over, and my jaw dropped.
My study was gone. In its place stood this massive room. Roughly two hundred square feet. South-facing. Ensuite bathroom.
Twenty square feet bigger than Michael's and my own master bedroom.
I called the designer, "Who the hell changed this?"
He hesitated for three seconds. "Mr. Foster came by last week and signed off on it himself. He said it was for the old folks to live in. He told me to knock down the study wall and add a senior-friendly bathroom."
I gripped my phone, nails digging into my palm.
I was the one who paid seven million bucks for this place. And he didn't even bother to give me a heads-up.
*****
When I got home, Michael Foster was on the couch, watching the game.
There was a half-empty can of beer and a few peanuts on the coffee table.
Our tiny, run-down six hundred forty-five square foot apartment was so cramped that you could barely turn around in the living room.
"When were you going to tell me about the changes to the blueprints?" I demanded.
I held up my phone so he could see the screen.
Michael took the phone, glanced at it, and handed it right back to me.
"I was planning to tell you once everything was done," Michael said.
"Once it's all done?" I shot back, my tone icy.
"Emily, please, just let me explain," he pleaded.
He turned off the TV, sat up straighter, and looked genuinely earnest.
"Rachel was with me for five years, and she never got to enjoy a single good day. In that tiny six hundred forty-five square foot apartment, even her mom had to sleep on the floor when she came to visit," he said.
He paused, his voice dropping.
"She got into that car accident because she was rushing to pick me up.
"She was their only daughter.
"I'll never be able to repay that debt in this lifetime."
I just stared at him, waiting for him to finish.
"Now that we finally have a big house, is it really too much to set aside a room for them, so they can come stay once in a while?" he asked.
"Michael." My voice was calm.
"That house cost seven million dollars. From the down payment to the final payment and the renovation, every cent came from me.
"Did you ask me before you changed the blueprints?"
He looked a bit uneasy for a moment, but quickly brushed it off.
"We're married. What's yours is mine, and what's mine is yours."
I stared at him.
He avoided my gaze.
"Besides, Richard and Linda are getting up there in years. I can't just sit back and watch them stuck in that old, leaky house," Michael said.
"If you want to be good to them, use your own money."
"I only make four thousand a month." He gave a bitter smile. "In this city, what does four thousand get you?"
Honestly, he was right about that.
In this marriage, his salary barely covered his pocket money.
The mortgage, the fees, everything at home. I paid for it all.
"So you just made the call for me?"
He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone rang.
It was his mom.
Michael put it on speaker.
"Michael, are the blueprints all set?"
Mary Foster's voice was warm and friendly.
"Yeah, they're done, Mom. But Emily—" Michael started.
"Emily dear," Mary's tone turned sweet as honey, "I know you have a good heart. It's been years since Rachel passed, and her parents have had it so hard. Now that we're doing well, letting them stay once in a while is a good deed."
She lowered her voice, like she was confiding some deep, heartfelt truth.
"The dead come first, after all. Surely you wouldn't begrudge them?"
I stayed silent.
Didn't begrudge the dead.
Then who begrudged the living me?
"Emily, are you still there?" Mary asked.
"Yes."
"Then it's settled. Once the renovation's done, I will come over and help you tidy up."
The way she said "help you tidy up" sounded exactly like "this is my house too."
She hung up. Michael looked at me with something like a plea.
"See? Mom's on board."
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the office."
I didn't look back.
He said something behind me. I didn't catch it.
Didn't want to, either.