And then there were the fishing trips. Every Saturday since Brent was twelve years old, he and Gerald went fishing together. Every single Saturday.
They’d never missed one—not for holidays, not for emergencies, not even for our wedding. We had to move the ceremony to Sunday because Gerald had already reserved their spot at Lake Raystown. I thought it was sweet at first, this father-son tradition. I told myself it was a sign of family values.
What I didn’t realize was that I would never come before those fishing trips. Not once. Not even when I was literally bringing their family’s next generation into the world.
The signs were there before that March morning—they always are. A few months before my due date, I started noticing money missing from our joint checking account. Small amounts at first: $150 here, $200 there. When I asked Brent about it, he waved me off. Business expenses, he said. You wouldn’t understand the supply chain business.
