Chapter 4 - The Justification
The silence stretched between them until the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room sounded like hammer strikes. Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting toward the stairs where Lily slept.
"Keep your voice down," he murmured defensively, closing the space between them. "You don't understand the pressure they put on me."
"I don't need to lower my voice," Clara replied, keeping her tone flat, like steel. "Explain the car, Marcus. Explain why my maternity leave money paid off a high-risk repo agency on Elm Street."
Marcus looked away, crossing his arms. "The repo men showed up while the kids were eating breakfast. Penny was hysterical. If they took the car, she couldn't drive Tommy and Leo to school."
"She has an SUV parked right next to it! The roadster was an antique project she kept in the garage!" Clara took a step closer, her voice vibrating with suppressed fury. "You took the money we saved for Lily’s medical bills after her NICU stay. You stole from your own daughter."
"I didn't steal anything! That is my salary, Clara!" Marcus snapped, his temper flaring through his facade of gentle fatigue. "I earn the bulk of this household's income. You've been on leave for six weeks. I made a temporary bridge loan to my family. Penny is going to pay it back next month."
Clara let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. "Penny hasn't held a job longer than ninety days in her entire adult life. She will never pay you back, and you know it. Your mother planned this. She came here to distract me while you executed the transfer."
Marcus straightened up, his face hardening into an expression Clara had never seen on him before—the cold, dismissive arrogance of Eleanor. "My mother has nothing to do with my financial decisions. And you don't get to audit how I help my flesh and blood."
"I am your wife," Clara whispered. "Lily is your child."
Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, already dismissing her. "I'm going to take a shower. We’ll talk when you’re rational."
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As he turned toward the stairs, a loud pounding shattered the quiet evening. Someone was hammering fists against the back kitchen door.
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