Chapter 5: The Woman Who Knew More Than She Said
At eight the next morning, I drove to Mama's house.
I hadn't slept, and the coffee in my truck's cup holder had gone cold before I reached the end of my street.
I had spent most of the night replaying my conversation with Tasha.
Every time I reached the part where she admitted moving the money, I stopped and started over.
She hadn't denied the transfers.
She hadn't claimed someone had stolen her passwords.
She hadn't said the bank had made an error.
She had said she was going to put the money back.
That was the part I couldn't get past.
When I pulled into Mama's driveway, she was sitting on her porch with a cup of tea.
She looked surprised to see me so early.
“Baby, what are you doing here? Did you sleep at all?””
“Not really.””
She set her cup down.
“Come sit.””
I joined her on the porch.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she reached over and touched my arm.
“You checked the account.””
It wasn't a question.
I nodded.
“There's money missing.””
Her face fell, though not with the shock I had expected.
Instead, she looked like someone who had been dreading confirmation of something she already suspected.
“How much?”” she asked.
“I haven't finished verifying everything, but it's a lot.””
Mama closed her eyes briefly.
“I'm sorry, Marcus.””
I turned toward her.
“Why are you apologizing?””
“Because I should have told you sooner.””
I stared at her.
“Mama, what do you know?””
She looked down at her hands.
For a moment, I thought she might refuse to answer.
Then she began to explain.
It had started months earlier, after Tasha organized a small event for one of her clients.
Mama said Tasha had called her the day before and asked whether she could help prepare some food and arrange a few things.
She had agreed because she wanted to support my fiancée.
The event had gone well, according to Tasha, and she thanked Mama afterward.
A few weeks later, Tasha called again.
This time, she needed help preparing food for a networking gathering.
Then came another request.
And another.
At first, the tasks were small.
Mama would arrive early, help arrange plates, prepare snacks, or make sure the kitchen was clean before guests arrived.
But eventually, the requests grew.
Tasha would ask her to stay late.
She would leave dirty dishes in the sink.
She would tell Mama that she needed just one more thing done before everyone arrived.
And because Mama didn't want to create tension between us, she kept helping.
“Why didn't you tell me?”” I asked.
“I thought she was just busy.””
“She could have hired someone.””
“I know.””
“She could have asked her friends to help.””
“I know, baby.””
I rubbed my face.
“Did she ever pay you?””
Mama shook her head.
“No.””
“Did she offer?””
“Sometimes she'd say she would make it up to me. She'd talk about taking me shopping or treating me to lunch. But I never asked her for anything.””
I felt anger rising again, but I forced myself to listen.
“What does this have to do with the wedding account?””
Mama looked toward the street.
“I don't know exactly what's happened to your money.””
“Then what made you tell me to check it?””
She took a breath.
“Because I heard something.””
I waited.
“A few weeks ago, I was at your house helping Tasha prepare for another gathering. She was on the phone in the living room, and I wasn't trying to listen. I was putting things away in the kitchen.””
Mama paused.
“She said something about needing to replace money before you noticed.””
My stomach tightened.
“What exactly did she say?””
“I couldn't hear the whole conversation.””
She looked directly at me.
“But I heard her say, 'I'll put it back before Marcus checks.''”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
The words sounded painfully familiar.
They were almost identical to what Tasha had told me over the phone.
“I'll put the money back.””
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Did she say how much?””
“No.””
“Did she mention the dress?””
Mama shook her head.
“No, baby. I don't know anything about the dress. I just remembered that conversation when I saw how she reacted to the question about the money.””
I sat back.
The information didn't prove where the missing money had gone.
It didn't establish that Tasha had used it to buy the dress.
But it did establish something I couldn't ignore.
She had been talking about replacing money before I noticed it.
That meant she had known there was a possibility I would discover what she was doing.
And she had continued anyway.
“Why didn't you tell me when you first heard her?””
Mama's eyes filled with sadness.
“Because I didn't want to be the reason you questioned your marriage.””
I turned toward her.
“You wouldn't be the reason.””
“I know that now.””
She reached for my hand.
“But I kept thinking maybe I had misunderstood. Maybe she was talking about business money. Maybe she had an explanation. I didn't want to accuse her without knowing.””
I squeezed her hand.
“You did the right thing telling me last night.””
Mama nodded slowly.
Then she asked the question I had been avoiding.
“What are you going to do?””
I looked out at the street.
I had no immediate answer.
Part of me wanted to drive straight to Tasha's apartment, demand every document she had, and refuse to leave until she explained everything.
Another part of me wanted to believe her.
Eight months of engagement didn't disappear overnight.
There were memories I still loved.
There were promises I had believed.
There were ordinary mornings when Tasha made coffee for me before work and kissed me goodbye.
There were evenings when we sat on the couch and discussed what our future children might be like.
I couldn't simply erase those things because I had discovered something ugly.
But neither could I pretend those memories canceled out what was happening now.
“I need the truth,” I finally said.
Mama nodded.
“Then don't settle for another promise.””
I looked at her.
“Don't let her talk you into believing everything is fine just because she says she'll fix it,” she continued.
“Find out what happened. Make sure your money is protected. And think carefully about what kind of marriage you're walking into.””
I swallowed hard.
“I should have noticed how she treated you.””
Mama's expression softened.
“You can't go back and change what happened. You can decide what you do now.””
I stayed with her for another half hour.
Before I left, I made sure she had breakfast and asked whether she needed anything from the store.
She said no, then reminded me to get some sleep.
I promised I would try.
But when I got back into my truck, I didn't drive home.
I parked at a small shopping center a few minutes away and called the bank again.
This time, I asked to speak with someone who could explain the available options for securing a joint account and reviewing transfers I believed might not have been authorized.
I described what I had found.
The representative explained that because the account was jointly owned, the bank's options depended on the account agreement and the type of transaction involved.
She couldn't tell me that the transfers were fraudulent simply because I hadn't personally approved them.
But she could explain how to document the transactions, request additional information, and ask what safeguards were available.
I followed her instructions.
I also changed the security settings I was permitted to change and made sure my own login information was secure.
I wanted to prevent further surprises while I worked out what had happened.
Afterward, I reviewed the statements again.
I compared the transaction dates with the wedding expenses I remembered discussing with Tasha.
A few charges matched what we had agreed to pay.
Others did not.
I wrote down the dates, amounts, and descriptions of the transactions that needed explaining.
Then I checked the wedding vendor emails.
The venue had sent us a confirmation for the deposit we had paid earlier.
The photographer had confirmed a separate payment.
But when I searched my email for the florist Tasha had mentioned several weeks earlier, I couldn't find a receipt.
I searched again.
Nothing.
I tried the caterer's name.
There was an email about a preliminary estimate, but no confirmation that a deposit had been paid.
I opened our messages and searched for the conversations where we had discussed those expenses.
Tasha had repeatedly said she was handling the arrangements.
She had assured me that everything was under control.
I had believed her because I wanted to trust the woman I planned to marry.
Now I needed to know which arrangements were real and which existed only in conversation.
At noon, Tasha sent another message.
Can we meet today? I want to fix this.
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed a reply.
Yes. Bring the statements and receipts for the wedding expenses, and be prepared to explain the transfers.
She responded almost immediately.
You don't trust me anymore?
I read the question twice.
Then I answered honestly.
I'm trying to understand what happened to our money.
She didn't respond for several minutes.
Finally, another message appeared.
Fine. I'll come over this afternoon.
I put my phone away.
For the first time since the party, I felt as if I had taken one small step toward understanding what was happening.
I wasn't going to accuse her of something I couldn't prove.
I wasn't going to let my anger decide the facts.
But I wasn't going to accept vague promises, either.
If Tasha wanted to repair our relationship, she would need to explain the money.
All of it.
And if the explanation didn't add up, I would have to make a decision that frightened me more than I wanted to admit.
May you like
Because the question was no longer whether I loved her.
The question was whether love could survive the discovery that the person you trusted most had been keeping you in the dark.
