Over the next few days, I sifted through old paperwork, searching for clues that might explain the hidden account. In a drawer filled with past tax returns and insurance policies, I found a small, unmarked folder.

Inside were forms for opening new accounts, each one requiring signatures. As I flipped through them, my heart skipped. There it was, my spouse’s signature alone on a form dated three months ago, authorizing the opening of a new savings account.

I took a deep breath, the pieces slowly falling into place. It wasn’t just the account; it was the secretive nature of it all. Why hadn’t they mentioned it? What were they hiding?

That night, I brought it up again. ‘I found the paperwork for the new account,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

My spouse paused, the fork midway to their mouth. ‘I was going to tell you,’ they said, their tone defensive.

I waited, giving them the space to continue.

‘I just wanted to handle it on my own for a bit, see how it goes,’ they added finally.

‘But why not tell me?’ I asked, the question hanging in the air between us.

‘I didn’t think it was a big deal,’ was the reply, their eyes avoiding mine.

The conversation ended there, unresolved, leaving a lingering tension palpable in the silence that followed.

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