“This says thirty-eight thousand.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you told me twenty.”
My stomach tightened.
Grace noticed.
Her smile returned.
“I told you.”
I looked at Harold.
“My grandmother gave me thirty-eight. I said I was using twenty toward our down payment.”
Harold stared at me.
“That’s different.”
“I know.”
“Where did the other eighteen go?”
Grace stepped forward.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Harold snapped,
“Mom. Stop.”
She fell silent.
But her eyes stayed on me.
I looked at the old statement.
“I paid something off.”
Harold frowned.
“What?”
I hesitated.
One second.
Maybe two.
Grace caught it.
“Oh, Harold.”
“Mom.”
“She’s hiding something.”
“I said stop.”
Harold looked back at me.
“What did you pay?”
I wished we still had our bedroom door.
Not because I had done something wrong.
Because some conversations belong in private.
Grace knew that.
Which was probably why she had destroyed our privacy before starting this one.
“My father’s debt,” I said.
Harold stared.
“What debt?”
“He had fallen behind on his mortgage.”
“You never told me.”
“No.”
Grace inhaled sharply.
“My son has no secrets from me.”
Harold turned toward her.
“Enough!”
But something had already shifted.
I could see confusion on his face.
Not anger.
Confusion.
Pain.
I stepped closer.
“My dad was embarrassed. He asked me not to tell anyone. This happened before we were married.”
“We were engaged.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave him eighteen thousand dollars?”
“Not exactly.”
Harold’s expression changed again.
