Chapter 5 - THE ROOF FUND
I had spent Sunday morning wondering whether Reid intended to leave us. By lunchtime I had an address where he planned to go.
Beth showed me the confirmation on her phone. The apartment was twenty minutes from our house, close enough for Reid to see the twins whenever he chose. He hadn't mentioned the application to me. He hadn't mentioned to Beth that the children lived twenty minutes away.
“Did you pay toward it?” I asked.
“He said he would cover the move-in costs,” she said. “He told me a bonus had come through.”
I took down the property manager's name: Blue Harbor Residential. Beth offered to send me a copy of the first page, with her personal information removed. I told her she could wait until she was comfortable. I had a joint account I needed to check first.
At home, Miles and Mae were working on a cardboard sea turtle with my mother. My father was cutting out flippers. I stood in the hallway long enough to hear Mae explain that real turtles couldn't pull their heads back into their shells the way cartoons did. Then I joined them, held the tape, and let the question about the apartment wait until the project was done.
After my parents left, I opened our shared savings account. We had been putting money aside for a new roof since a spring inspection found worn shingles. The roofer's written estimate was $12,600; the work was scheduled for October, and our first payment was due when we signed the final contract. Reid had told me he'd arranged an advance to secure the date.
I found the withdrawal near the end of August: $4,800, sent to Blue Harbor Residential.
In the budget spreadsheet we both used, Reid had entered it as roof contractor advance. I remembered asking him about it while I was packing the twins' school supply bags. He'd said the roofer had changed its billing company. I'd made a note to update our records and then forgotten it.
The roof estimate named a different business. I pulled it from the folder where we kept home repairs and read it twice. No payment had been requested yet.
I had seen the number before. What I hadn't seen was the lie beside it.
On Monday, after dropping the twins at their summer program, I requested the full transfer record from our bank's online portal. It confirmed the recipient and date. I saved the roof estimate, the budget entry, the transfer record, and the messages from Reid about the “advance.” I put copies in a folder that wasn't shared with his devices.
I work at a clinic coordinating appointments. On a busy morning, I can't make a patient appear sooner by pretending there's an opening. I can only find out what is available, tell the truth, and arrange the next step. I tried to apply that discipline to my own life.
At lunch I met a family lawyer named Ms. Patel. I told her about the aquarium, then about the apartment and the roof money. I had brought far too many screenshots, but she let me place them in order.
“The photograph shows where he was,” she said. “The accounts show where the money went. We'll need the complete statements and any agreements before we know how the financial part should be handled.”
She didn't promise me the children or a check for $4,800 because I'd caught him lying. She asked who usually took the twins to school, which bills came from the joint account, whether either child had upcoming appointments, and who helped with pickups. She told me to keep their routine steady while we worked out a temporary arrangement.
I appreciated that more than I wanted to. It meant someone was thinking about Tuesday morning while I was still trapped in Saturday.
After work I opened an account for my own wages. I left the household account in place for the mortgage, utilities, and children's expenses and made a list of their due dates. The lawyer would review any further changes. I wasn't going to make the twins' home another surprise Reid could blame on me.
Beth sent the first page of the rental application that evening. Blue Harbor's name was at the top. Reid was listed beside Beth as an applicant. Under move-in funds, the form recorded $4,800 received.
I showed the page to Reid when he called.
“I know what that transfer paid for,” I said.
“Beth had no right to give you that.”
“It came out of the savings account for our roof.”
“I'll put it back after my fall bonus. No one is losing anything.”
May you like
The roof wasn't his to promise away until a bonus arrived. Neither was the truth.
He went quiet for a moment, and I thought he might finally ask how the twins were doing. Instead he said, “My parents know you've been moving the roof money around to make this look like my fault.”
