“Convenient.” I set down the papers and looked at her directly. “Jennifer, in eighteen months, I have given you and Derek $127,000.”
The color drained from her face. “That’s not possible,” she stammered.
I pushed the spreadsheet toward her. “Check the math yourself.”
She stared at the numbers. I watched her eyes track down the columns, watched the realization settle into her shoulders. Her hands began to shake.
“I didn’t… I didn’t realize it was that much.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t suppose you did, because you never had to think about it.”
Her chin lifted, defensive. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair,” I interrupted, voice harder now, “is being told via text message that I’m not welcome in your home—that your husband finds me uncomfortable—after everything I’ve given you.”
Jennifer’s face crumpled and the tears came fast. “Derek was just… he was having a bad day. He didn’t mean—”
I held up my hand. “Don’t make excuses for him, and don’t insult my intelligence.”
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