Three Days After I Took In My Pregnant Sister, I Caught Her Sleeping With My Husband novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Pot Roast for Three

Brianna serves dinner and says nothing, then finds eighteen thousand dollars missing from the joint account and a text on Daphne's phone from a number saved under a girl's name.

I cooked pot roast, because it was Preston's favorite and it took three hours.

I needed three hours to be quiet in my own kitchen.

Daphne came down at six in my old gray robe, with her hair wet and her cheeks pink.

"It smells amazing," she said. "You're so good to me, Cor."

I handed her a glass of water.

"Sit down," I said. "You're eating for two."

She sat and rested a hand on her stomach, where I could see it.

Preston came in at ten past seven with his tie pulled loose and his jacket over his arm.

He kissed my cheek.

"Cincinnati was a nightmare," he said. "Four hours in a conference room over a loading dock contract."

"Poor you," I said.

He smelled like our guest room soap.

I set out three plates and forced my hands to be steady.

For a while the three of us ate, and it was the most normal dinner we had ever had.

Preston told a story about a client's dog.

Daphne laughed in the right places.

I laughed once, a half second late, and nobody noticed.

"I have good news," Preston said, and he reached for the salt. "Daph's prenatal appointment is tomorrow at two. I'll drive her."

"You can't take the afternoon off," I said. "You're booked all week."

"I'll move things around. She shouldn't go alone."

He said it warmly, and Daphne looked down at her plate and smiled.

I put my fork down.

"That's generous," I said. "I'm sure the baby will be glad to have you there."

Preston paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.

"What does that mean?"

"It means thank you," I said.

Daphne's eyes went to him and away again.

"Brianna," she said, in her small voice, "are you upset with me? Because if my being here is too much, I can go to Mom's."

"Mom's has one bedroom and a dog that bites," I said. "You're staying."

"You sound angry."

"I'm tired," I said. "I came home early today. It was quiet."

Nobody moved.

Preston set down his glass very slowly.

"Early?" he said. "I didn't see your car."

"I parked at the end of the street. I wanted a walk."

"What time was this?"

"Around one."

I watched his face go through three expressions and settle on concern.

"You should have called," he said. "I'd have come home."

"I know," I said. "You always do."

Daphne's chin began to shake.

"I don't know why you're being so cruel to me," she said, and the tears came right on schedule. "I'm sick and scared and alone, and you're talking like I did something."

"Don't upset her," Preston said sharply. "She's pregnant, Brianna."

"I'm aware," I said. "I'm the one who cleared out the closet."

I stood and carried my plate to the sink.

Behind me, he murmured something, and she sniffled, and the chairs scraped.

By eight I was alone in the kitchen with the dishes and the cat.

Preston went upstairs to shower, and Daphne went back to the guest room with the door shut.

I took my laptop to the living room couch and opened our joint bank account.

I had not looked at it in months, because Preston handled it.

I scrolled slowly, line by line.

For six weeks there had been a transfer every Friday, from our joint savings into an account I did not recognize.

The account name was P. Lyle Reserve.

Nine thousand, six thousand, three thousand four hundred.

I added it on the back of a coupon envelope.

It came to eighteen thousand four hundred dollars, and every dollar of it was money my grandmother's rent checks had built up over twenty years.

My hands were shaking again, so I set the laptop down and waited until they stopped.

Then I opened the bank's app, found the page for changing access, and changed nothing yet.

I did not want him to see an alert.

I wanted him to see an empty doorway tomorrow.

On the kitchen counter, Daphne's phone buzzed against the wood.

She had left it there when she went upstairs for her pills.

I crossed the room and looked, because I had decided that morning to stop being polite.

The screen read: Prenatal Nurse.

Underneath, a message was waiting.

Two o'clock. Wear the blue top. She'll be at the office all day.

The phone went dark before I could read what came after.

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