“Rachel, what exactly are you preparing for?”
“The possibility that my husband gets convinced to leave me.”
“By his mother?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re worried about the house.”
“Yes.”
She reviewed the equity calculations again.
“With this documentation, you’re in a strong position.”
I said nothing.
“The financial contributions are very clear. You’ve paid most of the principal. You’ve managed the mortgage. Your records are excellent.”
Then she asked the obvious question.
“Why haven’t you shown this to Felix?”
“Because eventually anything I tell Felix becomes something Lucia knows.”
“And if she knows?”
“She changes the story.”
Diana studied me.
“So you’re waiting for her to act.”
“Yes.”
“And when she does?”
“The records speak.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
“That is either extremely intelligent or incredibly lonely.”
“It’s both.”
She nodded.
“I imagine it is.”
Before I left, she gave me her direct number.
“When it happens,” she said, “call me that day.”
So I waited.
Our eighth year of marriage arrived.
By then, Lucia’s voice had become almost constant in our home.
Sometimes I challenged Felix.
Sometimes I didn’t.
The sentence that hurt most came one evening when he looked at me and said:
“Sometimes I honestly wonder what you bring to this marriage besides spending the money I earn.”
I didn’t answer.
I looked at the man I had loved for more than a decade.
Then I thought about my income.
My mortgage payments.
The house.
My records.
Diana Cho.
And sixty-three percent of the equity.
Felix mistook my silence for defeat.
It wasn’t.
