I waited, listening to the hold music, my mind racing. My husband emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing out like stage smoke. « What’s up? You look pale, » he said, toweling his hair.
« Your parents’ gift… it’s not just money, » I replied, motioning to the paper on the bed. He picked it up, frowning as he read.
« This is a bit much, » he admitted, dropping the paper back on the bed. « I didn’t know they’d do this. They said it was just a gift. »
« A trust fund is more than a gift, » I murmured, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. The receptionist came back on the line.
« Mr. Wilson is in a meeting, but he can return your call tomorrow, » she said.
« Tomorrow, » I echoed, trying to mask my frustration. « Thank you. »
My husband sat next to me, staring at the paper. « We’ll figure it out, » he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
As he spoke, I realized this wasn’t just about money. This was about control, about strings attached to something that was supposed to be ours. The gift was a tether, and I needed to know what it meant for our future.
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