“I’ll have my direct deposit transferred tomorrow,” I said in a low voice.

By Sunday, the bank had processed all the forms, and I had created three folders on my laptop labeled “Past,” “Present,” and “Exit.” Colton thought the separate accounts marked a fresh start, but he didn’t know I had been keeping track of every dollar spent since our wedding.

That evening, her sister Brianna arrived for dinner, entering our townhouse in Columbus with a natural ease, as if she were at home. Her gaze swept across the living room and settled on the new carpet.

“You’ve redecorated,” she said with a sly smile. “It looks like something from a discount home decor catalog.”

“Salmon, does that suit you?” I asked, forcing the issue of politeness.

“Of course,” she replied, settling into an armchair before glancing at her brother. “So, I heard you’ve finally made a decision about the money.”

Colton gave me a quick glance and nodded. “New chapter.”

Brianna leaned back and looked me straight in the eyes. “It was about time he stopped letting you take advantage of him.”

The room seemed smaller to me, but my pulse remained regular. “Excuse me?” I asked.

“He told us you were exhausting him while you were searching for yourself,” she continued, laughing. “At some point, a grown woman should be able to support herself.”

Colton didn’t correct her. He simply looked at me, waiting for my answer.

“You’re right,” I said slowly, pushing back my chair. “Let me have something.”

I walked through the corridor to the cupboard and took out the large navy blue binder that I had built up over the years. It felt heavier than paper when I brought it back and placed it in the middle of the table.

“What is it?” asked Brianna, wrinkling her nose.

“Our story,” I replied, opening the first tab.

Colton rubbed his forehead. “Not tonight, Megan.”

“I think tonight is perfect,” I replied.

I swiped a page to Brianna. “This is a $42,000 wire transfer taken from my severance pay to clear Colton’s student loans five years ago.”

She glanced at it and shrugged. “You helped him once.”

“Turn the page,” I said.

There was the bank draft for the apartment deposit, with my signature and account number clearly printed on it. Below it was a copy of the deed designating me as the sole owner, as his credit score was too low at the time.

Her mother, Patricia, who had remained silent until then, leaned forward to read. “I thought you two bought this together,” she murmured.

“Yes,” murmured Colton.