I looked up slowly and asked, “Your sister who ended her marriage last month?”
Patrick leaned against the counter with an impatient expression and said, “Do not start complaining already.”
“I am not complaining,” I answered calmly. “I am asking why you made a decision about our house without speaking to me.”
He laughed once in a short unpleasant way and replied, “Our house? Natalie, this place belongs to me.”
My stomach tightened as I asked, “What exactly do you mean?”
Patrick’s voice hardened when he said, “You bought it with my money. I have been paying for everything in our life, so if you argue about this again I will throw you out.”
For several seconds I simply stared at him because I expected the conversation to turn into a joke, yet his expression remained cold and serious.
“I paid for the house with my own accounts,” I said quietly.
Patrick folded his arms and replied with a smirk, “Then show me proof.”
The following morning Patrick left the house early in his dark sedan and announced that he was heading to the airport to collect his parents Deborah and Harold Sullivan along with his sister Melissa.
After he drove away I opened my laptop in the empty living room and began reviewing every document connected to the purchase of the property, including the title, the closing disclosures, and the bank wire confirmations.
However as I continued reviewing financial records I noticed something deeply disturbing.
About one week before the closing date Patrick had persuaded me to simplify our finances by allowing him limited access to a shared account that we planned to use for household expenses, and because I trusted him completely I had agreed without hesitation.
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