Spring.
The same season we saw Nora on the ultrasound.
The same months I’d been calculating maternity leave, hospital expenses, childcare costs, and how many extra shifts I could safely work.
While I was preparing for our daughter, my husband had been gambling away his money.
And when he couldn’t cover the credit card payment, he sold my maternity wardrobe.
“I thought I could win it back,” he mumbled.
I stared at him.
“And when you couldn’t, you decided my clothes were the solution?”
He nodded.
Frank finally spoke.
“Why didn’t you sell something of your own?”
Nick remained quiet.
“Your golf clubs,” Frank continued. “Your gaming equipment. Things that actually belong to you.”
Nick shifted in his chair.
“I thought about selling the clubs.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He swallowed.
“Because I didn’t want to.”
The room fell silent.
That answer told me everything.
