Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“Let’s go into the dining room,” I said, turning away from him.
The dining room was just as empty as the kitchen, the beige carpet showing four deep square indents where the heavy oak table had sat for half a decade. I walked over to the built-in window seat and reached into my bag, pulling out the paper statement I had carried from the bank.
Ryan followed me, his footsteps fast and angry. “We have a mortgage to pay next week. If you’ve spent our savings on some new apartment because you’re throwing a tantrum about me taking a few days off, you’re going to ruin us.”
I held out the white piece of paper. “The joint savings account was cleared out on Tuesday morning at ten past nine, Ryan.”
He did not take the paper. He looked at it, his eyes darting across the printed rows of numbers, then he looked toward the kitchen where the steady, scraping turn of Shaun’s screwdriver continued.
“That was an investment,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, though he still kept his chin high. “I told you I was looking into some options for us. A financial transition. I had to transfer those funds to secure the deal.”
