“Rachel, are you sure?”
I’m blowing up my marriage.
“He drained their college fund, Mom. For a suite. With a balcony.”
She pressed the envelope into my hand.
“Dad’s retirement rollover had been sitting in a money market since spring. We’d always meant it for you. We offered this loan a year ago for a reason. And I’m taking the kids back to our place for the weekend. You can’t pack a house with two sick babies underfoot.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
“I keep asking myself if I’m blowing up my marriage.”
“Sweetheart,” she said quietly, “he blew it up. You’re just cleaning the debris.”
“A woman needs to let her husband breathe.”
On day six, my phone rang from a foreign number. Brenda’s voice sang through the speaker, loud enough that I set the phone on the counter and stepped back.
“Rachel, honey, the suite is divine. You should see the linens.”
