me not to reduce your affair to money.”
“I remember.”
“I didn’t.”
He shut his eyes. Melissa and I had painstakingly reviewed two checking accounts and three credit cards, separating normal spending—fuel, groceries, legitimate business lunches—from purchases we could connect directly with Rachel. Those included hotels, restaurants corroborated by messages and dates, a Cincinnati weekend Daniel had described as a supplier conference, flowers delivered to her workplace, concert tickets, an aquarium excursion, and a furniture deposit for Rachel’s apartment made after he moved in but before the temporary agreement. BookHotels
Melissa’s assistant compiled $18,420 in documented spending. It wasn’t millions or some sensational hidden fortune. But that money represented our postponed roof repair, the holiday we never took, emergency savings I had built, help with Ben’s tuition, and a Christmas when I clipped coupons because Daniel told me to economize. Every entry was linked to a piece of our
