Chapter 9: Live

"Amanda," I said, into a microphone that carried my voice to four hundred thousand people. "Good morning."

"Hi, Leo."

Her voice was warm and shaky, a voice she had practiced in a mirror.

"I'm not calling to fight," she said. "I just want everyone to know I don't believe those stories."

The host leaned in. "And you are?"

"His wife. Well, we're separating." She laughed softly. "It's been a hard week for the family."

"I'm sure it has."

"Leo, I want you to come home."

The producer behind the glass put both hands over her mouth.

"Daddy's sorry. Mother's sorry. I know the video looks bad, but we can fix this."

"We can work on us. The house is waiting for you."

It was a good performance.

If I hadn't known her for five years, I might have believed it.

"Amanda," I said gently, "last Tuesday at six fifty p.m. I stood on your porch in the rain."

"That was a misunderstanding."

"That porch was not a misunderstanding."

Silence on the line.

"I'm not coming home," I said. "I hope you're well."

"Leo, that isn't fair."

"It's the truest thing I've said in five years."

The host cut her line with a very small, professional click.

"The claims," the host said, clearing his throat.

I had a folder in my lap.

It held eleven years of bank statements.

I'd had the bank print them on my way in, and the teller had cried while she did it.

"The article says I diverted Price Supply funds to a charity," I said. "That's not true, and here's how I know."

I opened the first page.

"My first check went out the month I turned eighteen. It was for a hundred and forty dollars."

"To?" said the host.

"The St. Brigid's Alumni Fund. I mailed one on the first of every month after that."

Keep reading free with an account. Start Cherished by Seven Sisters from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.