At the bank, a representative named Luis checked my identification and brought us into a small office.
Marlene stayed in the lobby until I asked her to join me.
The account had been opened jointly.
Gavin and I had always used one household login, and I had let him manage it while I worked through the start of the school year and prepared for maternity leave.
Luis helped me create my own access and update my contact information.
Then he printed the statements.
I recognized my deposits immediately.
Two hundred dollars from a summer shift.
Four hundred from extra enrollment hours.
A larger transfer from the tax refund we had agreed to save.
At thirty-four, I still calculated overtime before accepting it.
Another Saturday of filing records could mean a crib mattress or two weeks of groceries after delivery.
Across several years, I had saved twelve thousand dollars.
Marlene’s contribution brought the fund to twenty thousand, plus a little interest.
Four withdrawals had removed five thousand dollars each.
All four went to Gavin’s personal checking account.
The first happened the week he came home with a used rocking chair and told me we should be practical.
The second was the day I returned nursery curtains because he said the pattern cost too much.
I remembered standing at customer service with the unopened package against my belly.
The clerk had asked whether anything was wrong with them.
“No,” I had said. “We just need the money.”
Now I touched the withdrawal date.
Luis could explain transfers from our joint account, but he couldn’t show Gavin’s personal one.
“I want copies of everything I’m entitled to see,” I said.
He gathered the statements.
