Chapter 3 - The Secret Account
Two hours after Nick dragged his duffel bag out the front door, my phone chimed with an incoming call from an unknown local number. I wiped my face with a damp washcloth, taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse before tapping the green icon.
“Hello?”
“Anna? Is this Anna Keller?” The voice on the other end was young, hesitant, and choked with tears.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Tara,” the voice whispered. “Mom took my keys this morning, but I walked to the library to use their phone. Anna, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't know he was stealing from your closet until he showed up with those garbage bags full of clothes on Friday night.”
I gripped the kitchen counter, my knuckles turning white. “Tara, you listed my green dress for sale. You helped me pick that dress out at the boutique in August. You knew I had booked a photographer for next weekend.”
“He told me you had bought a second dress!” Tara sobbed into the receiver. “He said you decided on a white lace gown and told him to sell the sage one to help me cover my nursery rent. Nick swore you knew everything! But then he demanded the eighty-five dollars from the dress immediately. He took it out of my Venmo balance before I could even transfer it.”
“Tara, did you know he drained our entire savings account?”
There was a long, suffocating pause on the other end of the line. The background noise of the library’s computer lab hummed quietly before Tara spoke again, her voice barely audible.
“Anna... Nick has had a second bank account for six months. At the credit union on Grand Avenue.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What are you talking about?”
“In July, he asked to use my mailing address for bank statements,” Tara confessed, the shame heavy in every syllable. “He told me he was hiding a bonus from his company so he could surprise you with a trip to Hawaii after the baby turned one. But last month, a statement came that was opened by mistake. It wasn't a savings balance, Anna. It was a secondary personal loan. He took out twenty-two thousand dollars against his car title.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Nick hadn't just lost our sixteen thousand dollars of hard-earned cash. He had encumbered his vehicle with a high-interest title loan, driving our family deeper into a subterranean pit of debt.
“Why are you telling me this now, Tara?” I asked, my voice trembling with exhaustion.
“Because when Mom showed up at my apartment this morning with that look on her face, I realized how sick he is,” Tara whispered. “He’s been lying to all of us. He told Mom that you were suffering from severe prenatal depression and spending all our money on online shopping. That’s why Mom hadn't stepped in sooner—he was isolating you from us, Anna. He was telling her you were unstable so she wouldn't believe you if you complained.”
A chill ran down my spine. The calculation of it was monstrous. Nick hadn't acted out of sudden panic; he had spent months systematically laying the groundwork to discredit my sanity, ensuring that when the money inevitably vanished, his family would view me as the reckless spender rather than the victim.
“Tara,” I said, pressing my hand firmly against my aching lower back. “Who bought my green dress?”
May you like
“A woman named Claire Benson,” Tara answered immediately. “She lives off 42nd Street. I have her profile and her address saved in my Marketplace records. I’ll send it to your email right now. Please, Anna... don't hate me forever.”
“Send the information, Tara,” I said quietly, and hung up.
