“Only a specialist can handle this. I’ll call when I’m free. Sarah?” “Yes, hon?” “I love you.”
A pause. Too long. “I love you too,” she finally said. “Don’t miss me and Lily too much.” The call ended.
James stared at the blank screen. She used to say, “I love you too, sweetheart” or “I love you too, my darling.” Never just “I love you too.”
The credit card was still in his pocket. He needed to return it to her wallet before she noticed. But something held him back.
Should he check all transactions from recent months? Find the truth, whatever it was? “James,” his mother called from the kitchen. “Come here, the dough’s ready.”
He gripped the card tightly. “I need to make a decision now.” Back in the kitchen, James sat at the table and opened the banking app. His hands trembled slightly.
“Mom, I need to work a bit, okay? Urgent report to check.” Margaret nodded understandingly and focused on the pies, humming softly. James scrolled through the transaction history, growing paler by the minute.
Over the last three months, Sarah had spent nearly $20,000. Restaurants, boutiques, spas. And regular transfers to Harris, each between $3,000 and $4,000.
“Where’s this money coming from?” pounded in his temples. Sarah’s salary was less than his. They’d recently spent their savings on home renovations, and the credit card was already in the red.
A chilling thought hit him. He opened his own banking app, where he’d been saving for a new car. Six months of scrimping and saving.
Balance: $124.36. His ears rang.
He distinctly remembered there was over $6,000. With shaking fingers, he checked the transaction history.
Three weeks ago. Transfer to Sarah’s account—$6,420. “Son, why are you so pale?” Margaret looked up from rolling dough.
“Blood pressure drop?” “No, Mom,” he swallowed hard. “Just a bit dizzy.” “Eat something,” she fussed. “I’ll whip up a quick pie.”
But James wasn’t listening. Numbers swirled in his head.
Over $20,000 in three months. His savings, Sarah’s credit card, some unknown sources. All gone, and he had no idea where.
He reopened Harris’s webpage. “Professional help for family issues. Personalized approach.
Confidentiality guaranteed.” In fine print at the bottom: “Consultation fee: $150.”
$150 per session. Yet Sarah was sending thousands. What kind of consultations were these? “Mom,” James looked up from his phone.
“What if Dad…” he faltered, choosing his words. “If Dad started acting strange, what would you do?” Margaret froze, dough in hand. A shadow crossed her face.
“What are you getting at?” “Just, say, if he stayed late at work, spent large sums on who-knows-what…” “James.” Her voice turned unusually serious.
“What’s going on? Is something up with Sarah?” He shook his head. “No, nothing, just…” “Son, don’t dodge, I can see something’s wrong!” James stared at a spot on the table. “Tell Mom? No, she’ll worry, fret.
And what’s there to tell, my suspicions, guesses?” “Just tired, Mom, really,” he tried to smile. “Let’s help with the pies.” Margaret sat across from him.
“When your father started staying late at work twenty-five years ago, I pretended everything was fine, didn’t want to face the obvious…” James flinched. They never spoke about his father’s affair with a young coworker. It was a family history they avoided.
“Mom, don’t…” “I need to, son, because I see the same fear in your eyes that I had back then…” “What did you do?” he asked quietly. “Talked to him. Directly, honestly, no hysterics or accusations.”
Margaret placed her hand on his. “Asked if he loved me and you, if he wanted to save our family. And he… he cried like a boy, begged forgiveness, said he was lost.”
Margaret smiled sadly. “We went to a counselor together, rebuilt trust. It wasn’t easy, but we made it.”
James squeezed his mom’s hand. “And if you hadn’t?” “Then it wasn’t meant to be. But knowing the truth and deciding is better than living in fear and suspicion.”
His phone buzzed again. A text from the bank. “Transaction alert: $98 payment.”
La Scala Restaurant. His heart skipped a beat. Right now, while she’s talking about Rachel’s database, Sarah was at a restaurant.
With whom? “You know, Mom,” James stood slowly. “You’re right. I need to talk.
Right now.” “Maybe wait till tomorrow?” Worry flickered in her eyes. “With a clear head.”
“No, I need the truth.” He typed a quick message to Sarah. “I know you’re at La Scala.
We need to talk. I’m coming.” He sent it and started dressing, avoiding his mother’s anxious gaze.
“Should I come with you?” Margaret stepped toward him. “No, Mom. This is our business.”
James pulled on his jacket. “Stay here. Lily will be back from her friend’s soon.”
The phone stayed silent. Sarah didn’t reply. His hands shook as he searched for his car keys.
“Son!” Margaret stopped him at the door. “Whatever it is, don’t do anything rash. Remember, you have a daughter.”
He nodded, unable to speak. One thought pulsed in his mind. La Scala was fifteen minutes away.
Fifteen minutes to a moment that could change his life. Behind the wheel, James tried to gather his thoughts. What would he say when he saw her? Who was she with? This Harris? Or someone else? The evening city blurred past in streaks of light.
At a stoplight, his phone buzzed. A message from Sarah. “James, no scenes.
I’ll explain everything, wait for me at home.” He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. Scenes? She’s worried about scenes? After all this? Another message.
“Please, just go home, for Lily’s sake.” The light turned green. James pressed the gas.
Five minutes to the restaurant. Parking near La Scala, James sat motionless for a moment, staring at the sign. Through the large windows, he saw tables with white linens, waiters in crisp suits, guests in evening attire.