Chapter 11 - Sarah Was Hiding Work For A Different Reason
Michael wanted to make Sarah’s freelance work equivalent to his debt.
For about six minutes.
Then she asked one question.
“Did my bookkeeping ever pull rent out of the account?”
He stopped.
“No.”
“Did I sign your name to anything?”
“No.”
“Did I put the house behind it?”
“No.”
“Then don't make them equal because secrecy is the word they share.”
Michael leaned against the kitchen counter.
“I’m not.”
“You were about to.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
That honesty saved them an hour.
Michael asked:
“Why twelve hundred?”
“What?”
“Why did you need that much?”
“I didn’t decide on a number.”
“What were you saving for?”
Sarah looked toward the dining room.
“Security.”
He hated that word.
Not because it was wrong.
Because his wife had been manufacturing her own version of it away from him.
She said:
“When the first Northline loan happened, you and I had one savings account.”
“I remember.”
“You needed it for payroll.”
“We agreed.”
“Eventually.”
Michael looked away.
Sarah continued.
“You kept asking what alternative I had.”
He remembered.
Lay off men before Christmas?
Kill the business?
Lose the contracts?
He had stacked the questions until helping him became the only moral option.
Sarah said:
“I hated how small I felt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“The freelance work started as Christmas money.”
“For the boys?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Then I liked having money you weren't planning around.”
Michael winced.
She saw.
“I’m not saying that to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I also should have told you.”
He looked at her.
“Why didn't you?”
“Because once it became three thousand, I knew if I said it out loud during a business crisis, you would see available cash.”
Michael could not honestly deny it.
Sarah continued:
“And I had started thinking about leaving.”
He stared at the counter.
“When?”
“A month ago.”
“Before Northline email?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because you were never home and every conversation became Brookfield.”
“That's work.”
“I know.”
“You were thinking divorce because I worked too much?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I was thinking about whether our marriage had become a business support system.”
That hurt.
Michael said nothing.
“You came home and asked whether dinner was done, whether I had mailed invoices, whether I could move a dentist appointment because you needed the truck, whether I could help with payroll.”
“I didn't ask you to do payroll.”
“You asked me to check hours.”
He remembered.
“Once.”
“Six times.”
He stared.
Sarah almost smiled.
“Your memory is expensive.”
He did smile then.
Briefly.
Then she became serious again.
“I stopped knowing whether you needed me or loved having me.”
Michael looked at her.
That sounded like an accusation he could argue with.
Instead he asked:
“What did it feel like?”
Sarah’s expression changed.
She took longer to answer.
“Like if I stopped being useful, I would become one more problem you had to manage.”
Michael felt something unpleasantly familiar.
That was how he had started treating everyone when the business began failing.
Crew.
Clients.
Sarah.
Money.
Problems to sequence.
He sat.
Sarah remained standing.
“Are you still thinking about leaving?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly to dismiss.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
She looked almost angry that he accepted it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sarah.”
“I expected you to fight.”
“So did I.”
“Why aren’t you?”
Michael looked toward the stairs.
“Because Ethan tried to sell his brother’s PlayStation after listening to us fight about money.”
Sarah’s face softened.
He continued.
“I don't think louder is helping.”
That evening, they did something neither had planned.
They told Ethan and Noah that Dad’s company was closing.
Not that everything was fixed.
Not that the marriage was fine.
They did not mention Sarah considering separation yet.
That conversation needed more care.
Ethan asked:
“Did Dad lose?”
Michael looked at him.
“In business?”
“Yes.”
Michael thought.
“The company is closing.”
“That sounds like losing.”
“It does.”
Ethan waited.
Michael nodded.
“Then yeah. I lost this one.”
Ethan seemed surprised he said it.
Noah asked:
“Do you still get money?”
Sarah covered a smile.
Michael answered:
“I start a regular job next week.”
“Like Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Do they have PlayStations?”
Michael laughed.
“No.”
Noah looked disappointed.
The boys went upstairs.
Sarah stayed at the table.
Michael gathered plates.
Then she said:
“I have a counseling appointment Thursday.”
He stopped.
“For you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She watched him.
“It’s also with a marriage counselor.”
Michael turned.
“Also?”
“I booked one session.”
“For us?”
“If you want.”
He stared.
Not a reunion.
Not a promise.
An hour.
He nodded.
“Yes.”
Sarah looked relieved.
Then:
“Don’t make me regret it.”
Michael picked up the plates.
“I’ll try not to turn it into a project.”
May you like
She almost laughed.
That was as close to hope as either of them trusted.
