Chapter 6 - THREE WEEKS OF MATERNITY LEAVE
Six weeks after Grace was born, my employer called.
Not to pressure me.
The opposite.
My manager wanted to make sure I understood the leave schedule.
I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee I had reheated twice.
Grace slept against Nathan’s chest.
Nathan had gone back to work but was home between sales calls.
My manager said:
“You still planning twelve weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Just remember weeks nine through twelve are unpaid.”
“I know.”
After the call, I opened our spreadsheet.
The one Nathan and I had created months earlier.
Hospital.
Leave.
Daycare.
Emergency.
Baby Buffer.
The hospital bills had started arriving.
$1,840.
$2,370.
$615.
Then Grace needed an ultrasound for a hip issue our pediatrician wanted checked.
Probably nothing.
Still another bill.
Daycare required a $2,400 deposit to hold our January spot.
Life had started spending the money exactly the way we expected it would.
Nathan looked over my shoulder.
“What?”
I turned the laptop toward him.
“If the rest of the money isn’t restored, I may have to go back after nine weeks.”
His face changed.
“No.”
“It’s three weeks.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t get to say no.”
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
Then tried again.
“I don’t want your leave shortened because of what I did.”
“Neither do I.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
I closed my eyes.
He heard himself.
“Sorry.”
“Again.”
He sat across from me.
“What do we need?”
That was better.
“About seventy-five hundred to cover the final three weeks comfortably and keep our emergency minimum.”
He nodded.
“My stock replaced eleven-four.”
“Yes.”
“Jenna sent twenty-eight.”
“Yes.”
“Mom hasn’t sent anything.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’ll take extra accounts.”
“That means you’ll be working more.”
“I know.”
“While I’m home with a newborn.”
He stopped.
There was the problem.
Every solution had a cost.
Working more made money.
It also left me alone more.
“Okay.”
Nathan thought.
“I could sell my truck.”
I stared at him.
“You need a car.”
“I can buy something cheaper.”
“You paid it off.”
“It’s worth around thirty.”
“You like your truck.”
He shrugged.
“I liked Hawaii too, apparently.”
I almost smiled.
“That’s not the same.”
“No.”
He looked at Grace.
“But the mistake should cost me before it costs you time with her.”
That sentence landed differently.
I did not want a marriage built on punishment.
But I also did not want to be the only one absorbing consequences.
“Don’t sell it today.”
Nathan nodded.
“Okay.”
Then his phone rang.
Jenna.
He answered.
“Hey.”
Her voice came through loud enough that I could hear.
“Are you sitting down?”
Nathan looked at me.
“Why?”
“I’m at Mom’s.”
His face tightened.
“What happened?”
“She told me you’re demanding eighteen thousand dollars from her.”
“I asked her to repay money she knowingly took.”
“She says it was a gift.”
“From me.”
“Yes.”
“With money I didn’t have.”
“I know.”
Jenna paused.
“Then she said something stupid.”
Nathan sighed.
“What?”
“She said Allison has rich parents.”
My mouth fell open.
Nathan’s face hardened.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Exactly.”
Jenna continued.
“She thinks because Allison’s parents could help if things got really bad, your savings weren’t as important as hers.”
I stood.
Nathan saw my face.
“Put her on speaker.”
He did.
I spoke.
“Jenna?”
“Hi.”
“What exactly did Carol say?”
Jenna hesitated.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“She said your parents paid for part of your wedding.”
“They did.”
“And helped with your college loans.”
“They helped with the last seven thousand.”
“And she said…”
Jenna stopped.
“Say it.”
“She said you’ve never known what it’s like to really worry about money.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“Does she know my dad was laid off when I was thirteen?”
“No idea.”
“Does she know my parents took out a home-equity loan for my college?”
“Probably not.”
“Does she know I worked through school?”
“I know.”
Nathan was staring at the table.
I continued.
“None of that matters anyway.”
“I know.”
“The money was ours.”
“I know.”
“I could have Warren Buffett for a father and it still wouldn’t make our joint savings her vacation fund.”
Jenna sighed.
“Believe me, I said that.”
Then her voice changed.
“Hold on.”
In the background, Carol said something.
Jenna:
“No, Mom.”
Another voice.
Louder now.
Carol.
“I did not say she deserved to lose the money.”
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
“Mom.”
“Oh, good. You’re there.”
Carol sounded irritated.
“I am tired of everybody twisting what I said.”
Nathan looked at me.
Then:
“What did you say?”
Carol answered:
“I said Allison has a safety net.”
I went completely still.
Nathan spoke slowly.
“So did you.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
“My CD is what your father left me.”
“Our Baby Buffer was what we built for Grace.”
“You’re young.”
Nathan looked like he had been slapped.
“What?”
“You can make more money.”
There it was.
Not cruelty.
Entitlement.
The belief that because we could recover, it was acceptable to take from us.
Nathan’s voice changed.
“Cash the CD.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Cash it.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then I’m done paying your recurring expenses.”
Carol gasped.
I looked at him.
Nathan had been paying her phone bill.
Car insurance.
Part of her property tax.
Small things individually.
Together, several hundred dollars a month.
“You would financially threaten your own mother?”
“No.”
Nathan stayed calm.
“I’m stopping voluntary support while you protect twenty-two thousand dollars and refuse to repay eighteen thousand you knew came from our daughter’s account.”
“I cannot believe you.”
“I can.”
That surprised everyone.
Nathan continued.
“I can believe me.”
His eyes filled.
“Because I trained you to think I’d always fix it.”
Carol went silent.
“I paid every time you said something was tight.”
No answer.
“I paid when the roof needed repairs.”
Silence.
“I paid when your car needed tires.”
Nothing.
“I paid for Jenna’s flight to your cousin’s funeral.”
Jenna muttered:
“I paid you back.”
“I know.”
Nathan continued.
“And none of that bothered me because I love you.”
His voice shook.
“But somewhere along the way you decided my money was partly yours because you raised me.”
“Nathan.”
“No.”
He looked at Grace.
“You don’t get to invoice my daughter for raising me.”
Nobody spoke.
Not even Jenna.
Carol hung up.
Nathan put the phone down.
Then stared at the table.
His hands were shaking.
I reached across.
Stopped.
Then decided.
I put my hand over his.
Nathan looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Honest.
Good.
Neither was I.
Two days later, the daycare called.
Our spot had to be confirmed by Friday.
$2,400.
I paid it.
From the account.
The balance dropped.
I stared at the number longer than I should have.
Nathan walked behind me.
Saw it.
Then left the room.
I thought he was upset.
Twenty minutes later, he returned carrying two sets of keys.
“What are those?”
“My truck.”
I frowned.
“And?”
“The old Honda Dad left me.”
The Honda had been sitting in Carol’s garage for four years.
It barely ran.
“What are you doing?”
“I found a dealer who’ll buy the truck tomorrow.”
“Nathan.”
“I talked to my mechanic. The Honda needs about twelve hundred dollars of work.”
“You love that truck.”
He looked at me.
“I love my daughter more.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t want you making some dramatic sacrifice so I have to forgive you.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why?”
“Because you’re considering losing three weeks at home because of money I took.”
He put the keys down.
“If somebody loses something for my decision, it should be me first.”
I stared at him.
For months after, I would remember that sentence.
Not because selling a truck repaired a marriage.
It didn’t.
But Nathan finally understood that an apology without cost was just language.
The truck sold for $29,600.
After repairing the Honda and setting money aside for taxes on the stock sale, Nathan transferred twelve thousand into the Baby Buffer.
Not eighteen.
Not pretending Carol had paid.
His contribution.
The balance returned above where we needed it.
I kept my twelve weeks.
That should have been the end of the money problem.
It wasn’t the end of Carol.
Because one week later, Jenna showed up at our house carrying an overnight bag.
“What happened?”
She looked furious.
“Mom kicked me out.”
Nathan stared.
“You don’t live with Mom.”
“I stayed there for two nights because my apartment building had a plumbing issue.”
“Why did she kick you out?”
Jenna looked at me.
“Because I told her she should cash the CD.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“And?”
“She said you two turned me against her.”
I sighed.
Jenna continued.
“Then she told me something I think you need to hear.”
Nathan looked at her.
“What?”
Jenna swallowed.
“Mom never thought you’d tell Allison.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
“She said you promised you would put the money back quietly.”
Nathan went pale.
“That’s not what I said.”
“She says it is.”
Nathan stood.
“No.”
Jenna looked at him.
“Then what did you say?”
He opened his mouth.
Stopped.
And suddenly I knew.
There was more.
Nathan sat back down.
“Allison.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did you promise her?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
Then looked at me.
“I told Mom if I could replace the money before you checked the account…”
He stopped.
“Finish.”
His eyes filled.
“…you never needed to know.”
The room went silent.
I stared at my husband.
The man I had started allowing myself to trust again.
And realized the original plan had been worse than I thought.
He had never planned to confess after the baby.
Not if the bonus came through.
If everything worked—
May you like
I was supposed to spend the rest of my life believing Nathan had never betrayed me at all.
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