The household banking password no longer worked, but I was an owner of the savings account.
Customer service confirmed I could restore access after verifying my identity.
Gavin said we could do it at home.
I stayed on the line.
When the balance finally appeared, I stared until the screen dimmed.
There should have been twenty thousand dollars for our daughter.
There was sixty-three dollars and eleven cents.
PART 2 — THE ACCOUNT HE WOULDN’T OPEN
“That’s the wrong account,” Gavin said.
I turned the screen toward him.
The final four digits matched every savings deposit I had kept.
He looked at Marlene instead.
“You’re making her upset over something I can explain.”
“Then explain it,” she said.
For seven years, I had watched Marlene soften questions for him.
She would mention how busy he was, how unreliable customers could be, how difficult it was to run a remodeling business.
This time, she simply waited.
He said he had moved the money into an account with a better return.
When I asked to see it, he claimed the app was down.
“Which bank?”
“It isn’t exactly a bank.”
Marlene placed her car keys in my hand.
“We can go to yours.”
Gavin stepped toward me.
Beth, returning from the hallway, stopped nearby.
“Audrey, do you need somewhere private to wait?”
“No. I’m leaving with Marlene.”
My husband watched us go.
He called once before we reached the parking lot, then texted that I was letting his mother interfere in our marriage.
I put the phone away.
