The weekend trip he planned for our anniversary and then canceled abruptly.
The strange stack of unopened mail he once swept into a drawer when I entered the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“He said you were already stressed about money.”
I looked at her.
“I wasn’t stressed about money.”
She stared back.
Something changed in her face.
Very slowly.
As though she had begun assembling her own version of events.
“He said your bonus had been smaller than expected.”
“My bonus was larger.”
Silence.
“He said the mortgage was becoming difficult.”
“I paid it automatically every month.”
Eleanor’s face drained of color.
The house became quiet.
For the first time since she had moved in with us eighteen months earlier, Eleanor looked genuinely frightened.
Not of me.
Of her son.
“Where is Daniel?” I asked.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
