“There is no grocery money,” Lauren said, her voice measured and precise. “There has not been a single transfer since February. He changed the passwords on our joint savings account three days after he moved his things out of the house.”
Ruth did not look back. She touched the corner of a cardboard box of generic mac and cheese, her fingers lingering on the gray cardboard.
“He told us his salary was diverted into the firm’s escrow account for the new partnership share,” Ruth said, her fingers tightening on the edge of the freezer door. “He said you agreed to use your personal savings for the temporary expenses.”
“My personal savings were gone by March,” Lauren said. “He knew that. He watched me pay the deposit on this place with the last of my grandmother’s inheritance.”
“I do not understand why you did not call us,” Ruth said, turning slowly to face her. Her face was pale in the dim kitchen light, her eyes searching Lauren’s face for some sign of exaggeration. “We are his parents, Lauren. We would have sent a check.”
