“Sunny side up?” I ask.
I’m cooking eggs. It’s pretty much all Deb has in the house.
“That’s fine,” Deb says.
She’s standing at the kitchen counter, her hair still wet from the shower. When the eggs are ready, we eat in silence in front of the TV, our plates balanced on our laps. We’ve taken to eating on the couch now.
“Those boots will look good with anything,” I say, trying to make conversation. Deb’s ASOS order arrived this morning.
She says nothing, so I try again.
“The great thing about ankle boots is you can keep wearing them in autumn.”
Still, nothing.
I sit up straighter. Come on. Talk to me.
It’s like I’ve said it aloud, because she puts down her knife and fork. “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a daze today.”
“Do you want to talk?” I tread carefully. “About anything. As long as we… talk.”
She blinks, her expression blank. But then she sighs. “Okay.”
I take a mouthful of egg, then ask the question that’s been on my mind for days. “Is he coming back?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure. Probably not.”
“Is that what you want?”
Deb looks at me like I’ve just asked her to sign away the deed to her house. “What?”
“What do you want from this, Deb?”
She stares at the coffee table. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Why not?”
She sighs. “We’ve been discussing divorce for years. Well, he’s been screwing around and I’ve been threatening.”
Her eyes turn to mine. “I never thought we’d actually go through with it.”
I hold my breath. “How do you feel?”
She sinks into the couch, places a hand over her eyes. “I don’t know. Angry. Sad. Scared.”
I put my plate next to hers on the coffee table. “Scared?”
A small, bitter laugh escapes her. “Because I know what he’s capable of.”
Memories come flooding back. How Richard barged into the house. How he’d left Deb on the floor after pushing her. No remorse. That smirk on his face as he sensed my fear right before he left.
“You know, you could get the locks changed,” I say.
Deb shakes her head. “That’s not it. What you saw the other day, that’s harmless. It’s the other bits I’m worried about.”
An uncomfortable chill runs down my back. She turns to face me, her eyes dark. “He’s a resourceful man. If we get divorced, he’ll try every trick in the book to take my life away from me.”
My emotions overwhelm me for a moment. Anger at this man. Sadness for this woman. Hopelessness for this house, this life. All crumbling. But there’s something else gnawing at me.
The charity. If something felt off before, it’s ringing alarm bells now. Before I can stop myself, I ask the question.
“Sorry to ask this, but you have a prenup, right?”
She shakes her head. “We never got one.”
“So it’s fifty-fifty?”
She nods.
I sit back, thoughts pouring in from my uni days. Conversations in pubs. The endless case law we had to memorise between tests. Debates running long into the night.
“I hate how biased our system is to a fifty-fifty split,” one girl from our class had said on an evening out. “If you ask me, prenups should become the standard. The world’s changing. Things shouldn’t be divided equally by default.”
“I think half of the UK will disagree with you,” another classmate, Emma, had said. “And even if prenups become standard, you’ll still have spouses hiding assets. People are changing, but they’re also getting smarter. Financial infidelity is a thing.”
The notion had stuck with me. Financial infidelity. Among my Commercial and Tax law courses (Criminal was not an option, according to my parents), this topic was by far the most interesting in that first year.
And just like that, the shady charity website turns more suspicious. If Richard doesn’t donate like Deb said, why are there consistent donations to an outdated charity? Something isn’t right.
“It’s supposed to be fifty-fifty,” Deb says, “But with him, you never know.”
“You think he might try to get more out of the divorce?”
She turns to me, her expression stern. “Of course he will. If he hasn’t already.”
“Do you have a lawyer?” I ask.
Deb’s face crumples. “We had a lawyer. So, I guess not.”
I wish I could tell her about the flowers for Susie in London, or the charity. Surely this could help her in any divorce proceedings? But if I do, I’d be admitting to snooping, and that could harm our friendship.
Plus, the information I have on Richard is only a grain of doubt. So what if he’s donating to a charity? Even if Deb thinks he doesn’t, he could be. Sure, the charity could be some type of front for something else he’s hiding from Deb. But it’s all just a hunch. I need something concrete.
“I need a nap,” she announces.
I stack the plates and stand up. “Sure, I’ll just wash up. Do you want me to go?”
“I’d like it if you stayed.”
I don’t have to ask her if she’s sure, because I know that look. Loneliness. I give her a sympathetic smile and my heart hurts for her. “Of course.”
I put the plates in the sink as Deb slowly walks up the stairs, leaving me alone with the TV. I switch it off, and when I’m sure Deb’s in her room, I dart to the study.
I walk to the cabinet. If I need something to build on this shred of suspicion, I’ll find it here.
“But how do they do it?” I remember asking Emma from uni all those years ago. “Surely there’s a process to check for hidden assets.”
“It’s the system. Some are really efficient in hiding it,” she’d told me. “Some don’t bother because their partners don’t understand the paperwork behind it. And when it comes down to it, it’s a matter of getting caught or not.”
I open the cupboard, pulling open the first drawer. A matter of getting caught or not.
There must be something here that can help Deb. There’s no way that charity can be legit. It just feels sketchy. Maybe Richard’s been making a fool of Deb for years. And if it’s not the charity, then it’s something else. I believe Deb when she says he’ll try to milk her for everything she’s got. Even if he’s the one whose caused this mess.
Luckily, Deb has me.
Because she might be too weak right now to see through her cheating husband’s lies. But I’m not.