Julia Harding's old flame, Oliver Simmons, was back in the country—broke enough that even his family estate was going up for a foreclosure auction.
I asked her if she still loved him. She frowned and told me to stop being ridiculous, said she wasn't that sentimental.
I believed her.
Until her phone lit up in the middle of the night. A bank withdrawal—eight million dollars. I'd seen that figure before. It was the opening bid for Oliver Simmons's old family estate.
She hadn't cheated on me.
She'd just used our marital assets to buy back another man's home.
I sat there holding her phone, waiting for her to wake up, and saw the post Oliver had just put up:
"Some people say goodbye to your face, then quietly hold up the sky for you behind your back."
The photo was the courtyard of the old estate.
And all at once I remembered what Julia had said the day she accepted my proposal:
"I'm the kind of person who only loves once in her life."
So it turned out she'd meant it.
…
Julia's phone lit up again.
A second post from Oliver, this time a carved wooden door, captioned: "Home at last."
I stared at that door.
Last year Julia had taken me to see that old estate. Passed down through the Simmons family for generations, a grand turn-of-the-century mansion, three acres of gardens.
She'd said the house had a story to it, what a shame the Simmons family had fallen.
I hadn't thought much of it then.
Now I understood why she knew it so well.
The living room was dark, the light of the phone screen washing over my face.
I scrolled back through the transfer record. Eight million even, paid to an auction house. And the memo line on the transfer spelled it out, plain as day: "Oliver's House—final payment."
Oliver's House.
She hadn't put this much heart into buying our own home.
There was a rustle from the bedroom. Julia had woken. She came out in her slippers, saw me sitting on the couch, and stopped short.
"Why aren't you asleep?"
I turned the phone around so she could see it.
Julia went still. She stepped over to take it from me, and I pulled my hand back.
"Oliver's old estate—you bought it?"
She didn't answer.
"I asked you something."
"Yes, I bought it." Her voice was very low. "His house was about to go up for foreclosure. I bought it back for him. Don't worry, I'll make the money up from somewhere else. It won't affect the family."
I couldn't help a short laugh. The family? We'd been married three years; her money and mine had stopped being separate a long time ago. And now she was telling me it "wouldn't affect the family"—as if this were something the two of us shared? Eight million dollars, taken just like that, without one word to me?
"When did you decide this?"
"Just… recently."
"Recently?" I glanced at the transfer date again. "Ten days ago. For ten days you've eaten with me, slept beside me, and not breathed a word."
Julia's brow drew together. "I was afraid you'd read too much into it."
"Read too much into what?"
She looked at me for a moment, then let out a sigh. "Theodore Henson, Oliver and I are in the past. He's in trouble now, and I helped him out, that's all. Don't overthink it."
That's all.
Then why write "Oliver's House" on the transfer memo? Why be the first to like his post? Why, the moment he was back in the country, did she already know his family estate was going up for auction?
None of that happens without putting real thought into it.
I didn't say any of it. I said only one thing: "I don't have a problem with you helping him. But you took our shared money to do it and didn't so much as mention it to me. Do you think that's appropriate?"
Julia's expression turned uneasy. She sat down across from me, folded her hands on her knees, and softened her voice. "I was wrong. I should have talked to you first. At the time I just thought I'd win the bid first and explain later, I was afraid someone else would snatch it if I waited. That house means a lot to his family."
"It means a lot to you too, doesn't it?"
She said nothing.
