“But . . .”Eliana frowned.“It’s all in his name.”
Richard had simply shrugged. “And? He may have paid for the car, but did he pay you to run household errands? To take his children to and from school? To transport groceries? Did he pay you for the decade you spent providing free childcare? For maintaining the home in his name? For housekeeping? For cooking?For the emotional support? What about the opportunity cost of what you’ve sacrificed to provide all of those services for free?”Richard shook his head in disgust. “Your husband may have paid for that house, but you were the one who made it a home. Dividing assets is not based solely on financial contributions, Eliana. Marriage is a partnership, and every kind of contribution, financial or not, is taken into account in the courtroom.”
It was a lot to chew on. A different perspective. She’d been thinking of everything as Jesse’s, solely because he paid for it—but would any of it be Jesse’s in the first place if she hadn’t been there to support him? If she hadn’t put in the years working so that he could get his degree first?
“Isn’t this a little childish?” Zoey whined, zig-zagging a line of blue paint down the side of her birdhouse.
“I like it,” Abby countered.
Zoey stuck out her tongue, and Abby shrugged in response, unbothered.
“It’s just for fun, Zoey.” Eliana coughed to cover the sound of her laugh. “I saw these birdhouses were on a big sale, and I’ve always wanted one to put up for that bird that nests on the porch every year.”
Abby nodded. “That’s nice.”
Zoey sighed, rolling her eyes. “Then why didn’tyoupaint them?” she grumbled.
“Because I love my daughterssomuch and want to see theirbeautifulartwork every time I look outside.” Eliana eyed Zoey’s birdhouse and its explosion of color, looking like it’d been involved in a paintball war, “Even if it looks likethat.”
Abby snorted, keeping her eyes focused squarely on her own project and carefully drawing dozens of tiny daisies along the edges.
“Excuse me.” Zoey waved a hand over her birdhouse, “This is a work of art.”
“From a piece of work,” Abby mumbled.
Zoey flicked her paintbrush across the table, spraying Abby with droplets of blue paint, and Abby sat up, stunned. She reached a hand up, threading her fingers through the auburn strands of her hair, and then stared at her hand, now speckled with blue. With a speed unparalleled, she flicked her own brush, showering Zoey in yellow. A moment later, Eliana dropped her head into her hands as a full paint war broke out between the girls.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Eliana called out, slapping a hand on top of the paint-water cup that Zoey was preparing to launch. “Showers!Now!”
The girls groaned, trudging away, but just before they reached the stairs, she caught wind of a shared giggle and felt a smile twist her lips. They’d never been able to hold grudges against one another.
Looking back at the table, she sighed at the mess, then turned away . . . she’d Magic-Eraser it later. In the meantime, she pulled her shopping bags out from under the kitchen sink and got to work.
The first step was to carefully align and secure the cameras to the back wall of the birdhouses, the lens pointed toward the hole, and superglue the top shut. Then she dragged a chair outside and hung the colorful projects high in the air, one on the front porch and one on the back. She had a third camera, but she held off on placing it in the bedroom as she’d originally intended—opting instead for a spot in the living room, inside a hanging fern.
“There’s a reasonable expectation of privacy in one’s own home. Even if your husband is cheating, in the law’s eyes, you can’t film him in a space as private as a bedroom or a bathroom,”the lawyer had said, sucking the wind straight from her sails.
And yet, she still slipped the audio device under the edge of the bed. Just toknow.
The GPS tracker went back under the sink to hide in his car when he returned home.
Finished, she walked out to the mailbox to gather the mail. Dropping the stack of letters on the end of the counter, she set a pot to boil.
She must’ve been louder than she’d intended with the pots, because Zoey called from down the hall, “Mom? Whatcha making?”
“Nothing!” Eliana yelled back. “Just creating my own tea,” she mumbled as she held the first credit card statement over the boiling water.
“Okay. Create me some too!” came the reply a moment before Zoey’s door snapped shut once more.
Eliana shook her head. Those ears were a damn superpower.
Focusing on the task at hand, she slipped her fingers under the edge of the envelope and pulled the statement free, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the lines of charges. Her blood ran cold at the expenses. Four thousand dollars spent in that one Elliston weekend. Two thousand on one trip to the jewelry store. Six hundred dollars at a restaurant, just two weeks ago. He’d beenworking late. And the list continued. Her gaze flitted to the bottom as she flipped to the second page and . . . froze. Finally noticing the total balance.
The overdue notices.
The interest charges.
It didn’t make any sense. These kinds of numbersshould’ve already sunk their ship. They should be on the street.How was he paying for this?
