Back then, Harold and I argued about money constantly.
Our household expenses always seemed higher than they should have been, no matter how carefully I budgeted.
“We’re spending too much,” Harold would say while studying the bills. “Water, electricity—everything keeps going up.”
“I’m watching every dollar,” I insisted. “I don’t understand it either.”
“Maybe you’re just not keeping track properly.”
That accusation hurt more than I admitted.
I started saving receipts.
I wrote down purchases.
I checked meters.
I tracked everything.
And still, our bills never quite made sense.
Eventually, I began wondering whether Diana was right about me.
Maybe I really was careless.
Maybe I really was terrible with money.
It would take years before I discovered the real reason those numbers never added up.
My marriage with Harold didn’t end suddenly.
It cracked little by little until there was nothing left to repair.
