I stood again.
“You agreed?”
“Rachel, please listen.”
“You helped my husband hide money from me?”
“I thought he was saving it for you.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
Mom’s eyes filled with regret.
“He said he wanted to build an emergency fund. He told me you were carrying too much responsibility and that if he put extra savings somewhere separate, you wouldn’t use it to solve everyone else’s problems.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know that now.”
“Did it make sense then?”
She flinched.
I regretted the sharpness immediately, but the question remained between us.
Mom lowered her voice.
“Your father used to worry about you the same way.”
That hurt differently.
My father had died six years earlier after a short battle with pancreatic cancer.
He had been practical, gentle, stubborn, and completely convinced that I was capable of doing anything while simultaneously worrying that I might attempt everything at once.
Mom continued.
“Ethan said he wanted to make sure you had something secure. Something no one could touch if the company downsized or there was some financial emergency.”
“And you believed him.”
“I wanted to.”
The answer was so honest that my anger faltered.
“Where is the money?”
Her face went pale.
“I don’t know.”
I stared.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I never had access.”
“It was your account.”
“Technically.”
She shook her head.
“It was an old account I opened years ago when your grandmother was alive. There was almost nothing in it. Ethan handled the online access after we arranged everything.”
“Mom.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
She covered her mouth briefly.
“I thought I was helping.”
“You never checked?”
“He would occasionally tell me how much had accumulated.”
“How much?”
“He said around twenty thousand.”
“The records show more than fifty.”
Her eyes widened.
For the first time since I arrived, I believed she was genuinely shocked.
“Fifty?”
“Yes.”
“I had no idea.”
