Chapter 2 - THE ALLOWANCE THAT WAS NEVER EXPLAINED
I left the penthouse before either of them could reorganize the truth.
Thaddius followed me into the elevator.
“Serena.”
I pressed the lobby button.
“Not here.”
“Mom shouldn't have hit you.”
I turned.
That sentence was so inadequate it almost stunned me.
“She hit me because I didn't give her fifteen hundred dollars.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I mean I know what happened.”
“No. You know why I've been paying her?”
The elevator started descending.
Thaddius rubbed his forehead.
“When Dad died, some things got complicated.”
“That's what you told me two years ago.”
“It was true.”
“What things?”
“Expenses.”
“She lives in a six-million-dollar penthouse.”
“The building costs are high.”
“Her HOA is almost eleven thousand dollars a month. Fifteen hundred doesn't solve that.”
His eyes shifted.
I noticed.
“Thaddius.”
“Can we do this at home?”
“We are doing it now.”
He sighed.
“You agreed to help her.”
“Yes. Because you told me she needed help.”
“She did.”
“With what?”
The elevator doors opened.
He didn't answer.
I walked into the lobby.
Thaddius caught up beside the doorman.
“Serena, don't make decisions while you're angry.”
I stopped.
My cheek was swelling.
My white blouse was torn near one button where Dorothia had grabbed me.
“Your mother hit me twice and threatened me with losing everything.”
“I heard.”
“And your first concern is my decision-making?”
His face tightened.
“That isn't fair.”
“No. Fair would've been you walking into that room and asking your mother why she was attacking your wife.”
I left.
That night, I stayed with my friend Camille in Brooklyn rather than return to the condo Thaddius and I owned in Tribeca.
I barely slept.
Not because of Dorothia.
Because of the numbers.
I kept seeing that handwritten balance.
Ninety-one thousand five hundred.
Then ninety thousand.
Each monthly payment reducing it by exactly $1,500.
It looked like debt amortization without interest.
The next morning, Thaddius sent me eleven messages.
Most were variations of:
Let's talk.
Then:
Please don't contact Mom’s bank.
That one mattered.
I called him.
“Why would I contact her bank?”
“I don't know. You're upset.”
“You just gave me the idea.”
“Serena.”
“What is she paying off?”
Silence.
“Thaddius.”
“It isn't what you think.”
“I don't know what to think because nobody will tell me what I'm paying for.”
“You were helping Mom.”
“Then why is there a declining balance?”
He breathed out slowly.
“I need to explain it properly.”
“You've had two years.”
“I was embarrassed.”
There.
Finally.
Not Dorothia.
Him.
“What did you do?”
“I borrowed money.”
“How much?”
He didn't answer.
I remembered the first number on Dorothia’s sheet.
“$93,000?”
Thaddius said quietly:
“Originally a hundred and twenty.”
I sat down.
“From your mother?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Almost three years ago.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“An investment.”
“What investment?”
“One that failed.”
I closed my eyes.
“And my $1,500 payments?”
“They helped Mom.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Serena—”
“Were they repaying your loan?”
His silence answered before he did.
“Yes.”
Twenty-six months.
Thirty-nine thousand dollars.
I had believed I was supporting my mother-in-law.
May you like
Instead, I had been paying my husband's debt.
And he had been standing beside me every month while I did it.
