Over the next few days, I became a detective in my own life. Every spare moment was spent analyzing the statements, matching them against our monthly budget, and highlighting discrepancies. I contacted the banks, sat through meetings with financial advisors, and cross-referenced tax documents. Each step felt like a slow unearthing of truths that had been buried beneath the surface of our seemingly simple lives. “Why didn’t we notice this before?” I often found myself muttering aloud, only to be met with silence from the empty room.
My spouse remained distant, their demeanor unchanged. At times, they would glance over at me, a slight furrow in their brow, but the questions I posed were met with reassurances that only fueled my need to uncover the full story. “Everything will be fine,” they’d say, a mantra that did little to ease the tension gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. I began to wonder if they truly believed it, or if it was merely a practiced line.
One evening, while reviewing the latest batch of documents, I stumbled upon a line item that made me pause. It was a wire transfer, significant enough to raise an alarm, and yet I had no memory of it. It was dated nearly two years ago, at a time when we were supposedly tightening our belts. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my phone. I needed answers, and I was determined to get them.
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