“Yeah. I’m just... I have questions,” he says timidly.

“And so do I. Let’s talk about them in the chair.”

Brian is staring up at the ceiling from the chair next to me. I’m also keeping my eyes gazed at the ceiling as I can feel my armpits sweating. A small D tattoo I got over five years ago pales in comparison to the pain I feel now with this cover-up job. It’s like cats scratching at a sunburn but I have to stay still. There’s no going back now. In this captive position while my tattoo artist is jamming to the Metallica in his headphones to stay focused, I decide it’s time to hash some stuff out. I know I should be the one who breaks the silence, but I’m not yet sure what the first thing out of my mouth should be.

“So...you stole from me,” I blurt out in some sort of weird, half-joking way.

Brian turns to me. His eyes wide like he got caught with a hand in the candy jar. I immediately regret this approach, but such is life when you go with your gut.

“Charlotte. I—”

“Let me guess,” I forage on, trying to smooth over my clunky start. “You ‘didn’t want me to find out this way.’ Debbie used that line on me and it didn’t make anything better.”

“Clearly, yes, you read my card. I took the money. And when I gave it to Gemma, I told her that you said you’d be open to meeting Aiden ‘one day.’ I regret it. I was just trying to handle a sensitive moment the best I could. She hasn’t stopped asking if anything has changed on that front for years. I should have known that one day she’d take matters into her own hands and find out for herself what the deal was. I can’t speak for Debbie, but that’s why I didn’t want you to find out this way. But now you have everything you need. I explained what happened and returned your money. What more do you want from me?”

Twenty-four hours ago, he’s right—that’s all I would have needed. Cold, hard facts and a check that would make Decker’s policy go back to looking like I thought it was for the last five years: clean and balanced. But those things are doing nothing for me right now. I want...

“I want to know...did you take it when I locked myself in the bathroom so I could sob alone? Or was it when I was looking for my bra behind me on the floor?”

He cracks the bones in his neck.

“I’m not some douchebag who took advantage of a grieving widow. You know me better than that. I would never do that. But after that line was crossed, the idea just came to me. We talked earlier that night about what your plans were as we packed up your place, and I knew you weren’t going to touch the funds for a while. I also knew you weren’t coming out of the bathroom until you heard that door shut behind me. So I just took the transfer form and put it in my pocket, not sure if I’d ever actually make the withdrawal. And now here we are.”