“I know,” Lydia replied. “Why do you think I married him?”
The words landed like a cold, heavy stone in my chest. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a dull, oppressive weight that settled deep inside, confirming suspicions I had tried to ignore for too long.
“What do I tell the bank if they ask?” Constance continued.
“It’s his card,” Lydia said. “Say he sent you. Family emergency. Medical bills. Be confident. They never question confident people.”
I remained motionless, staring into the darkness behind my eyelids, a carefully crafted mask of sleep concealing the storm of emotions roiling beneath.
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