The plastic edge of the gray binder dug hard into my ribs. Cody's words hung in the sterile dealership air.
*The only thing you're good for is paying. Why do you have to ruin even that?*
I didn't yell. I didn't defend myself. I let the binder drop to the floor. It hit the ceramic tiles with a sharp crack, the metal rings popping open, spilling my meticulously organized pages across the ground.
"How long?" I asked.
Cody shrank back, his anger faltering for a second. "What?"
"How long has Vanessa been involved in this?" I kept my eyes pinned on my son. "Exactly how many days have you two been lying to my face?"
"It's not a lie," Cody muttered, staring at his sneakers. "She just helped me pick the color."
Before Cody could make another excuse, footsteps echoed from the customer lounge.
A woman stepped out from behind a towering display of tires. Vanessa. She wore a tailored beige trench coat, her blonde hair perfectly styled, looking entirely out of place in a Ford showroom.
"We aren't lying to you, Beth," Vanessa said. She stopped next to Richard, looping her arm through his. "We're simply managing the situation."
She unclasped her designer tote bag. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small, red notebook. She tossed it onto the glass desk, right over the scattered title forms.
"What's that?" I asked.
"His driving log," Vanessa replied smoothly. "The state requires fifty hours of supervised practice. I handled it."
I picked up the red book. I flipped the cover open.
Fourteen dates lined the pages in neat, blue cursive. They spanned eight months.
My finger traced down the column. October 12th. November 4th. December 18th.
My stomach tightened into a knot. I knew those dates.
"You told me you were studying at Liam's house on November 4th," I said, turning to Cody.
Cody rubbed the back of his neck. "I was. Afterwards. Vanessa just picked me up."
"She picked you up, and you practiced parallel parking while I was changing bedpans on the fourth floor." I looked up at Richard. "You took him driving on the eighteenth?"
"Someone had to," Richard said, crossing his arms. "You were busy."
"Busy?" I took a step toward him. "I was working a double night shift at the clinic."
"Exactly. You prioritize work. Vanessa prioritizes Cody."
The sheer audacity of his statement knocked the air from my lungs.
"I prioritized keeping a roof over our heads!" I slapped the red book back onto the desk. "Those three weekends? You were supposed to be watching him. Instead, I worked eighty-three extra shifts while you sat on the couch complaining about the job market for eleven months."
Richard rolled his eyes. "Ancient history, Beth. Why do you always drag up the past?"
"Because you're standing here acting like Father of the Year!" I pointed at his chest. "I canceled my final interview for the nursing director position to change your bandages after your knee surgery. Six weeks I stayed home to nurse you. Six weeks of lost income."
"And you never let me forget it," Richard snapped. He stepped into my space, lowering his voice into a harsh, biting tone. "This is your problem. You track every penny, every hour, every little favor. You always keep score. It's suffocating."
I stared at him. The man I had bankrupted my own ambitions to support now stood here, using my sacrifices as proof of my flaws.
"You call it keeping score," I said, my voice steadying. "I call it surviving your incompetence."
Vanessa gasped, offended on his behalf. "There's no need for name-calling."
"Stay out of this, Vanessa," I warned, not breaking eye contact with Richard. "You want the car in your name? Fine. But I'm not paying a single cent for it."
I turned away from them. I looked at Marcus, the salesman, who was practically pressing himself against the coffee machine to avoid the crossfire.
"Marcus," I called out.
The salesman jumped, spilling a few drops of dark roast onto his tie. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Cancel the transaction. Shred the purchase agreement."
Cody let out a loud groan. "Mom, stop! You're ruining everything!"
"I'm not buying a vehicle for your father's girlfriend," I told Marcus. "Tear it up right now."
Marcus looked at Richard, then back at me, his hands shaking slightly. "Ma'am, the paperwork is already drafted. The prep team finished detailing the exterior."
"Then un-draft it," I demanded.
Vanessa sighed, a high, practiced sound. "Richard, handle this. I'm getting a headache."
Richard didn't argue. He didn't yell. He simply reached into his slacks and pulled out his phone.
His thumb swiped across the screen, unlocking the device.
"You really think I'd let you ruin this day for him?" Richard asked, his eyes glued to his phone.
"You don't have eleven grand," I shot back. "Vanessa just spent your savings on a vacation deposit."
"I don't," Richard agreed. "But our joint emergency account does."
My stomach plummeted. The co-parenting account. The one mandated by the temporary court order for Cody's college tuition and medical emergencies. The one I funded entirely with my overtime pay.
"You wouldn't dare," I whispered.
"I told you, Beth," Richard said, his lips curling into a smug smile. "You control the money too much. It's time someone else made an executive decision."
He tapped the screen twice.
I lunged forward, but I was too late.
Richard flipped the phone around, shoving the bright display inches from my face.
The bank logo glowed green.
Below it, the transfer confirmation page displayed the exact amount of $10,900, and the submit button was already grayed out.
