As I drove home, the words from the meeting replayed in my mind. Limited access. Explicit permission. They were terms that stripped away the illusion of partnership, revealing the imbalance that had quietly taken root.
In the coming days, I combed through months of bank statements, piecing together the timeline of changes. Each transaction, each transfer, felt like a step further down a path I hadn’t chosen. My spouse remained calm, their explanation unchanging. “I thought it was for the best,” they said one evening, their voice steady as they stood at the kitchen counter, slicing vegetables for dinner.
I watched them, the person I had shared my life with, feeling the distance that had crept between us. It was as if we were actors in a play, reciting lines that no longer felt truthful. “For the best,” I echoed, my own voice hollow.
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