Chapter 6 - THE THIRTY-ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS I NEVER KNEW EXISTED
“They stopped sending the money to me?”
I stared at Ainsley.
She looked as though she wished she could take the words back.
“What are you talking about?”
Behind us, Mom stood motionless.
Brooks looked from my sister to me.
“Ainsley,” he said carefully, “what payments?”
She rubbed her forehead.
“Nothing. I said it wrong.”
“No,” I answered. “You said it very clearly.”
Dad appeared in the hallway.
“What's going on?”
I turned toward him.
“Apparently you've been putting money somewhere else while telling me you couldn't afford your share of the mortgage.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“Who told you that?”
“Ainsley.”
My sister looked away.
Dad's jaw tightened.
“We should discuss this privately.”
“We've been discussing everything privately for four years. Look where that got us.”
Mom touched his arm.
“Thomas, maybe it's time to explain.”
Dad shook her off.
“There's nothing to explain.”
I felt my patience disappear.
“Then tell me where the money went.”
He walked into the study.
After several seconds, I followed.
Brooks remained in the hallway with Ainsley.
Mom came behind me.
Dad sat at his desk and opened a drawer.
“We had an arrangement,” he said.
“What arrangement?”
“Your mother and I wanted to build some savings for the family.”
I stared at him.
“While I was paying your mortgage?”
“We had other responsibilities.”
“Such as?”
He hesitated.
“Ainsley's future.”
I looked at Mom.
She lowered her eyes.
Dad continued.
“Your sister was younger. She was still trying to establish herself. You already had a career.”
“I also had a mortgage, a daughter, and a wife who had just died.”
“Wes, nobody's denying that.”
“You told me you couldn't afford seven hundred and six dollars a month.”
Dad leaned back.
“We needed to make decisions about how to use the money we had.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“You had the money?”
“Not always. Some months were difficult.”
“But you were saving something?”
He nodded reluctantly.
“Your mother arranged a separate account.”
I turned toward her.
“What account?”
Mom's voice was barely audible.
“It was supposed to be for family education expenses.”
I felt a terrible sense of recognition.
The phrase sounded too much like the presentation I'd seen earlier.
“Whose education?”
Mom glanced toward the hallway.
“Ainsley's business development. Eventually, we thought it might also help Luna.”
I closed my eyes.
The promise had been simple.
My parents would pay half the mortgage.
I would cover the rest.
But after three months, they'd stopped.
I had spent the next four years making every payment because I believed they were struggling.
I'd worked overtime.
Skipped vacations.
Put off replacing the aging car Mara and I had purchased together.
And when Luna asked about visiting the science museum in Washington, I'd told her we needed to save a little longer.
All while my parents were putting money away for Ainsley.
“How much?” I asked.
Dad didn't answer.
“Dad. How much?”
Mom walked to a bookshelf.
She took down a small household budget notebook.
I recognized her handwriting immediately.
She had always maintained careful records of grocery expenses, utility bills, and holiday purchases.
She opened the notebook to a page marked Household Transfers.
There were entries for $706.
Month after month.
Not every payment was perfectly regular, but the pattern was unmistakable.
“Some months we had to make up the difference later,” Mom said.
I counted the entries.
Then I calculated the total.
More than thirty-one thousand dollars had been set aside over nearly four years.
I looked at Dad.
“You let me believe you were broke.”
“We weren't exactly wealthy.”
“You had thirty-one thousand dollars for Ainsley.”
“That money was intended to help the family.”
“Was I part of the family?”
He flinched.
The question seemed to offend him.
But I genuinely wanted an answer.
“Because from where I'm standing, I was good enough to pay the bills but not important enough to share in your plans.”
Dad pushed back his chair.
“You're turning this into something ugly.”
“It already is.”
Mom began crying.
“Wesley, I thought the account was temporary. I thought we'd eventually sort everything out.”
“Did you know they were still taking money while I covered the mortgage?”
She wiped her eyes.
“I knew your father was saving some. I didn't know how much.”
Dad looked away.
For the first time, I saw something other than irritation on his face.
Shame.
But shame wasn't repayment.
I took photographs of the budget pages with Mom's permission.
Then I returned the notebook.
“I need complete financial records. And I'm not signing anything.”
Dad stared at me.
“What happens if we can't get the financing?”
“Then we need to discuss selling the house, downsizing, or finding another legitimate solution.”
Mom made a small, frightened sound.
“Sell our home?”
“I don't want that. But I can't keep sacrificing Luna's future to protect everyone's lifestyle.”
Dad stood.
“You have no idea what losing this house would mean to your mother.”
I looked at him.
“You have no idea what watching Luna feel unwanted has meant to me.”
I left before he could respond.
That evening, I sat with Luna while she decorated a cardboard Christmas tree.
She'd made ornaments shaped like planets and insects.
“Daddy, can Christmas just be us?”
I smiled.
“Would you like that?”
She nodded.
“We can have pancakes for dinner.”
“Christmas pancakes?”
“With strawberries.”
“Sounds perfect.”
For the first time in days, I felt something loosen inside my chest.
Maybe our Christmas didn't need to resemble anyone else's.
Maybe it only needed to feel safe.
Then my phone lit up.
Mom had sent photographs of another page from Dad's study.
She added a short message.
Wes, I found this underneath the financial proposal. Your father says it's nothing, but I think you should know.
I opened the photograph.
It was a notice from the company that had handled Dad's insurance commission advances.
The letter demanded repayment of outstanding chargebacks.
The amount was $47,900.
The deadline was January 15.
May you like
And beneath the notice, in my father's handwriting, were three words:
SECURE HOUSE FIRST.
