Four thousand eight hundred dollars.
I opened the transaction details.
The transfer had been made from a joint household account.
My account.
I checked the date.
It was the same week Nathan had told me he needed money to repair his car.
I remembered that week.
He had come into the kitchen looking worried.
“Baby, the mechanic says the transmission is worse than we thought.”
I had asked how much.
He told me $4,500.
I had transferred the money without hesitation.
Now I was looking at a transfer of $4,800.
To the mysterious account.
Not the mechanic.
Not the repair shop.
Somewhere else.
My stomach tightened.
I opened another transaction.
Same account.
Another payment.
I kept going.
The pattern continued.
For months.
Sometimes every two weeks.
Sometimes once a month.
Always hidden among dozens of ordinary household transactions.
Whoever owned that account had been receiving money from us for a long time.
