“How much more?”
“A lot.”
She disappeared upstairs.
When she returned, she carried her laptop.
She opened a spreadsheet.
Hundreds of entries filled the screen.
Payments.
Dates.
Transfers.
Notes.
“How long have you been tracking this?”
“Three months.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because I thought if I could prove Frank was cheating Dustin, Dustin would finally leave him.”
There it was.
The hidden truth beneath everything.
Marcy had not been investigating for herself.
She had been trying to save someone who had convinced her his problems could be solved if she worked hard enough.
“I thought if Frank was gone,” she said, “Dustin would become who he used to be.”
I hated hearing the hope in her voice.
Not because hope was foolish.
Because hope could keep good people standing in the wrong doorway for years.
“Marcy.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
