The apartment.
The bracelet.
The resort.
The dinners.
The transfers.
The clinic appointment.
The Charleston villa.
Every page still showed the same.
Not merely where the money went.
Where I went.
Every time I chose convenience over responsibility.
Every time I turned love into something I assumed would wait.
At the bottom remained Corinne’s handwritten words.
While I spent the final weeks of my pregnancy attending appointments alone, you paid for another woman’s apartment.
While I stayed awake with our newborn, you booked a private villa.
I hope the life you chose was worth the one you abandoned.
The first time I read those words, I was afraid she was taking my life from me.
Months later, I understood.
She hadn’t taken it.
I spent it.
A dinner at a time.
A lie at a time.
A missed call at a time.
A transfer at a time.
