We didn’t threaten.
We simply documented reality.
Four hours after Felix received the letter, my phone rang.
“Rachel.”
He said my name differently.
Like someone whose understanding of his own life had just shifted.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“The income number…”
“Yes?”
“Is that actually what you make?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Several years.”
Silence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I almost laughed.
“When exactly would I have told you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You spent two years coming home repeating your mother’s opinions about what I contributed. During which one of those conversations was I supposed to present you with my financial statements?”
He didn’t answer.
Finally:
“I thought the firm wasn’t doing well.”
“No.”
“I thought you were struggling.”
“No.”
“Mom kept saying…”
“I know what your mother kept saying.”
Another silence.
“So she was wrong.”
“Yes.”
Then he asked about the house.
