I explained that I’d discovered payments to a pediatric clinic and that I wanted to understand what was happening.
I included my phone number and asked her to contact me.
That evening, an unfamiliar number sent me a message.
Friday. Seven p.m. Your house. Make sure Tony is there.
I showed Tony.
His face went pale.
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“Jennifer, you don’t understand what this could do.”
“To whom?”
He looked away.
I thought about my childhood.
About the Saturdays I’d spent waiting by the window for a father who never arrived.
Tony knew how much those broken promises had affected me.
He’d held my hand while I cried about them.
He’d promised he’d never make me feel that way.
And now he was refusing to answer even the simplest questions about our marriage.
I looked at him.
“My father used to make promises too.”
