The evening light was fading by the time my spouse returned. The usual sounds of keys jangling and shoes being set down filled the hallway. I sat at the table, the envelope still in its place, an unspoken invitation for conversation.
“Hey,” they greeted, a smile that now felt rehearsed. “How was your day?”
I gestured to the table, unable to mask the gravity of the situation. “We need to talk about this,” I said, my voice steady but firm.
The smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of something else—recognition, perhaps. They sat across from me, glancing at the papers.
“I found some discrepancies in our tax documents,” I began, choosing my words with care. “And there are accounts and debts I wasn’t aware of.”
The silence that followed was different now, charged with the weight of truth yet to be spoken. “I can explain,” they finally said, their voice low, almost contrite.
“I’d appreciate that,” I replied, the understatement hanging between us.
We began to untangle the threads, each revelation a step deeper into a complex web of finances and trust. It was clear this conversation would not resolve everything, but it was a start.
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