been approved.”
“I said it probably would be.”
“No. You told me everything was arranged.”
The confident version of Carl from ten minutes earlier was gone.
He looked deflated.
“I thought I could make it work.”
Sheila stared at him.
“You told me we already had an apartment lined up.”
“We do.”
“You told me the deposit was already covered.”
My stomach turned.
That couldn’t be true.
I handled our finances.
Most of our money was joint.
There was no hidden account large enough to fund the new life he had apparently promised her.
“Did you lie about that too?” Sheila asked.
Carl said nothing.
She gave a bitter laugh.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
Eventually, he answered.
“I felt trapped.”
“By me?”
“By everything.”
He rubbed his face.
“I turned fifty and started thinking, is this really it? Same office. Same house. Same conversations.”
I remembered
