I smile. My grandma’s voice echoes in my head.
“Make sure you’ve got money stashed somewhere safe that no man can touch. I always liked hiding some in a bag of frozen peas; no one looks there.”
“Grandma, it’s called a high-yield savings account now.”
“You can call it a damn cryptocurrency sock drawer for all I care. Just don’t let any man drain it, no matter how good he shakes the bed or fills out them jeans.”
“Grandma! Did you just … did you comment on my husband's … package?”
“I said what I said.”
I take a sip of iced tea and let the memory warm me. Ididn’t think I’d ever need protection from Sam. But here I am, grateful for that little account and the stubborn woman who told me to start it.
I remember I need to pick up Bernard tonight. He’s the Rothschilds’ elderly King Charles spaniel. I dog-sit for them during their summer trips. Usually, he stays with Sam and me, but things have changed. An idea sparks.
I pull out my phone and call Mrs. Rothschild.
“Hello?” she chirps on the second ring, her voice as bright and expensive as her perfume.
“Hi, Mrs. Rothschild! It’s Becca. I’m just calling to confirm I’ll be watching Bernard tonight.”
“Oh, yes, dear. We simply hate leaving him behind, but the heat on the Amalfi Coast is murder on his little heart murmur.”
“I completely understand. I was wondering … would it be alright if I stayed at your place this time? Bernard would feel better in his own space. I can water the plants and take care of the garden while you’re away. No extra charge.”
“Oh, honey, would you? That would be fantastic. Bernard hates the overnight bag, and my Monstera hasn’t recovered from the last disaster. That under-watering floozy next door nearly drowned it in neglect. I swear, I caught her pouring boxed wine into the soil!”
“I’ll treat them all with the reverence of a royal garden, I promise.”
“You’re a treasure. I’ll leave instructions taped to the fridge. I always say: the devil is in the details and the begonias.”
We hang up, and I feel steadier. Four weeks in a beautiful home with a pup who loves naps and zero emotional landmines? Yes, please.
Back at my desk, I log into my payroll portal. I figure outhow much of my check pays our automatic bills, leaving them still joint for now. I then move the rest into my personal account.
I’m still furious with Sam. I don’t know where our marriage stands. But I’m not going to let our power bill bounce because my husband decided to play venture capitalist to a fantasy.
My phone buzzes with a message from Phoenix.
Phi
Paperwork is ready. Where would you like me to have these delivered?
Sam should be home most afternoons after 4 PM.
I check my phone.
Still nothing from Sam.
Relief hits first. Then the ache. Damn it, why do I feel both? That’s the thing no one tells you about heartbreak. It doesn’t shut off your feelings; it doubles them.
I shove my phone in my bag and power through the rest of the workday.
At 5:00 p.m., a notification buzzes on my screen:
“Appointment at 5:30 – Tiny Dream Builders.”
Right. I slide into my car and head toward the river lot. The trees arch above me like a cathedral, the river murmuring in the background. I step out onto the gravel and breathe in the pine-heavy air. It’s grounding. Ness would say it’s my Capricorn soul recharging, and hell, maybe she’s right.
