Chapter 5

After that, the days moved quickly.

I found a job — administrative coordinator at a small local firm. The pay was modest but enough. Nine to six, forty minutes on the subway each way. Cafeteria for lunch. Cooked for myself in the evenings. Weekends, sometimes the farmers' market, sometimes just staying home with a book.

There was a corner market downstairs from my building. Every morning, older women came with baskets of fresh produce.

I learned to haggle. Learned to pick out the freshest greens. Learned to say can you clean it for me? to the fish vendor without feeling awkward.

Life was quiet as a glass of plain water. But somehow, strangely — I felt grounded.

No one was asking me to save money for someone else's mistakes. No one was telling me who I owed something to or who I should be more understanding of. Just me. The money I earned, I spent. The food I cooked, I ate. I slept when I wanted and woke when I chose.

It felt like breathing, really breathing, for the first time in three years.

One night, lying in bed, I found myself thinking about what Derek had said that day — We can rent somewhere. We'll save up and buy again.

Save up.

I smiled faintly. The savings we might have accumulated — whose pocket would they have ended up in?

I didn't know. But I knew I'd never have to find out.

That was enough.

About a month later, the first court hearing was scheduled.

I flew back for it.

Derek was there, sitting at the defendant's table. He'd lost weight. Dark shadows under his eyes. When he saw me, something lit briefly in his expression. I looked away.

Ryan was in the gallery, head down, not meeting my eyes. Margaret hadn't come. My lawyer told me she'd caused a scene at home — screaming that I was a curse, that I'd come into the family to tear it apart.

I didn't respond to that.

In the courtroom, our lawyer presented the evidence piece by piece: the sale contract for the marital home, the renovation payment receipts, the mortgage payment history, Derek's wire transfers to Ryan, my prenatal test results, my workplace attendance records from the days I'd worked through cramps instead of going to the doctor.

Derek kept his head down throughout.

His lawyer tried hard — the same loop, different words: A couple should support each other. The defendant was helping his family in a moment of crisis. You can't characterize that as misappropriating marital assets…

The judge let him finish a few sentences, then cut in.

"Let me ask you directly — did the defendant consult the plaintiff before selling the house?"

The lawyer paused.

"That's… well—"

"Yes or no?"

"No."

The judge wrote something down.

When the ruling came, Derek looked up at me.

His eyes were red.

"Nina—"

I stood. Walked toward the door.

He came after me, fast.

"Nina. Wait."

I stopped but didn't turn.

He came up behind me, his voice unsteady.

"Did you really… terminate the pregnancy?"

I said nothing.

He took a step closer.

"Nina, I know I was wrong. I wasn't thinking straight. My mom had been in my ear nonstop — Ryan was going to get hurt, the family would fall apart if I didn't step in — I just panicked. Can you give me one more chance? I'll change. I swear I won't give him another cent. I'll earn the money back and buy us a new place—"

I turned around.

Tears were running down his face.

Three years of marriage. The first time I'd ever seen him cry.

I felt something then — not hatred, not bitterness. Just exhaustion.

"Derek."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what I was thinking about, lying on that table during the procedure?"

He went still.

"I was thinking: if this baby grows up and asks you — Dad, why does everyone else have a home and we don't — what would you say?"

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

"You'd say renting is fine. You'd say we'll save up eventually. You'd say there was nothing you could do — Uncle Ryan was in trouble, and if you didn't help him, bad things would happen."

I held his gaze.

"I don't want my child to hear that. And I don't want him to grow up and become another version of you."

The color drained from his face.

I turned and walked away.

Sunlight hit me when I stepped out of the courthouse. I squinted into it.

A few steps later, someone called behind me.

"Nina!"

Ryan.

He jogged up, breathless, stopped in front of me.

"Can I — can I say something? Just for a minute?"

I waited.

He rubbed his hands together and looked down.

"I know it's my fault. I shouldn't have gambled. I just… I had a lot of free time, and a friend got me into it, and I got hooked. Mom was always telling me the whole family was depending on me to carry the name forward, that Derek had everything and I had nothing, and I just… I got in my head, and the bets got bigger and bigger…"

His voice trailed off.

I looked at him. Young — mid-twenties, still something soft in his face. And yet this young man had gambled away my home.

I thought of Derek at that age, just after we were married, standing in that empty apartment. I'll take care of you, Nina. We'll build something good.

And then what? Then every dollar he earned got swallowed by this same bottomless pit.

"Your brother loves you very much," I said.

He blinked and looked up.

"Since you were children, he gave you the best of everything. You racked up a gambling debt and he paid it, without flinching. He gave up his home for you. Do you know what that makes you to him?"

Ryan didn't answer.

"You're not his little brother. You're the child he's been raising."

The blood left his face.

"Nina—"

"He should have taught you to stand up on your own. Not spent a lifetime cleaning up after you. Do you understand?"

He stood there, frozen.

I stepped around him and kept walking.

A few steps later I heard a thud behind me. I looked back.

He'd gone to his knees on the pavement.

"Nina, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I was wrong. I swear I'll never gamble again—"

People nearby were starting to look.

I stood there for a moment, watching him.

"Get up."

He didn't move.

"What does kneeling in front of me accomplish? The house was sold because Derek chose to sell it. The money was given because he chose to give it. The gambling was yours and yours alone. No one forced anyone's hand. Get up. This changes nothing."

I flagged down a cab.

As I got in, I glanced back through the window.

He was still kneeling.

The cab moved. He grew smaller — a dark shape on the pavement — and then disappeared.