I clicked on the transaction history for the past six months.

Regular payments of two hundred dollars, five hundred dollars, and occasionally one thousand dollars had been drafted to an entity called “Vanguard Management Group.”

I wrote the name down on a yellow legal pad, the ink scratching loudly in the quiet house.

Then I checked our joint savings.

It had been cleared out three weeks ago, transferred directly into an account ending in four-eight-two-one.

That was Ethan’s personal checking account, one I had never had access to.

I stood up and walked down the narrow hallway to our home office.

The room smelled of stale coffee and the leather of Ethan’s desk chair.

I turned on the desk lamp, casting a sharp circle of yellow light across the mahogany surface.

The bottom drawer of the desk was locked.

I knew Ethan kept the key in the brass tray on the bookshelf, hidden beneath a handful of loose change.

I fished the small silver key out from under the quarters and pennies.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I slid the key into the lock.