She looked back down at the list. She had the licenses and the insurance paperwork in the bakery's filing cabinet. However, the tax returns, the joint account statements that tied into the bakery's initial funding, and the asset authorization forms were all at home. James handled the bulk of their household finances and the shared accounts. He always insisted he was better with the numbers.
Olivia pulled out her phone, opening her text thread with James.
Do you know where the joint account statements from last quarter are?
She watched the typing indicator bubble appear almost immediately.
James:Why do you need those?
Olivia:The competition committee asked for a list of financial documents for the final review stage.
James:I’ll handle it later.
Olivia frowned, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard.I need to send everything by Monday. I can just grab them today if you tell me where they are.
James:Then wait until I get home. Don’t dig through my office.
The response bothered her. Not because it was openly suspicious, but because of the phrasing.My office.Not their house. Not their paperwork. His office.
She locked her phone, telling herself not to overreact. James had always been particular about his workspace. He dealt with sensitive corporate documents. Maybe he just did not want her misplacing anything. Maybe he was in the middle of a stressful meeting and the text came at a bad time. Maybe she was just being sensitive because the air between them had felt so strained lately.
But as she went back to organizing the bakery paperwork, the uneasy feeling lingered, settling heavy in her chest.
***
James did not get home until past eight.
Olivia was sitting at the kitchen island, the competition folder open in front of her. She had a glass of water she had barely touched. When the front door opened, she sat up straighter.
James walked into the kitchen, his tie loosened, his eyes glued to his phone screen. He looked exhausted and entirely distracted.
"Hi," Olivia said, keeping her voice calm.
"Hey," he replied, not looking up as he walked past her to open the refrigerator.
"Did you get a chance to look for those documents?" she asked.
James grabbed a bottle of sparkling water and shut the door. "I told you I would handle it, Liv."
"I appreciate that, but I need to know where things are, too," Olivia pressed, turning on the stool to face him. "The bakery is mine. The competition is mine. I should not have to wait for you to access documents connected to my own business and our shared accounts."
James sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His expression shifted into familiar irritation. "You are making a simple thing difficult. You have been tense all week. This competition is stressing you out, and you are looking for problems where there are none."
"I am not accusing you of anything," Olivia said, her pulse quickening. "I just need the paperwork."
James leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. He looked at her with a mix of disappointment and exhaustion. "Then why does it feel like an interrogation?"
Olivia was taken aback. "Because I asked where a folder is?"
"Because you never just ask anymore, Olivia," James said, his voice lowering into a tired, wounded register. "You imply."
The shift was subtle, but it worked perfectly. Olivia felt the ground shift beneath her. She started doubting her own tone, wondering if she had sounded aggressive.
"You've been doing this for weeks," James continued, shaking his head. "Ever since that dinner with the partners, you have been looking for reasons to be upset with me. I am exhausted, Liv. I am working fourteen-hour days for us. I don't know what you want from me."
"I just want to be included," Olivia said quietly.
"You say you want us to be better, but then you treat me like the enemy," James countered. "You need to decide whether you trust me or not."
