His voice grew harder.
“You know I deserve a share.”
There it was. His truth had always been that. It wasn’t love. It was a percentage. I rested my fingers on the glass of water.
“Yes, you do deserve it,” I said softly. “You deserve exactly what you built.”
He smiled again, thinking I had given in.
“Great, then. See how rational we can be.”
He leaned in.
“Look, I know I was harsh in the ICU, but understand me. I’m young. I need to live. You’re not going to be the same person you were before.”
I listened to that as if it were rain. And inside, I thanked him because every sentence he spoke was another brick in my foundation. I looked him in the face and asked as if out of curiosity.
“Did you tamper with the health insurance?”
He blinked. For a millisecond, his control cracked.
“What insurance?”
I smiled.
“Mine. The one for the hospital. The coverage was changed. The authorization was changed. The contact was changed. It was an interesting coincidence.”
He managed a short fake smile.
“Oh, that must be a system error.”
I didn’t argue. I just asked one more thing in the same calm manner.
“And the transfers from the business account.”
This time he got serious.
“What about them?”
“The scheduled transfers?” I paused. “to an account I don’t recognize.”
He opened his mouth and closed it. And then he did what all guilty people do. He attacked.
“Are you accusing me of stealing?”
I took a deep breath.
“I’m asking you,” I said. “You’re the one who answered like a guilty man.”
His face hardened.
“You’re being paranoid.”
I nodded as if I agreed.
“Maybe I am.”
I looked at his still hot coffee.
“Or maybe it’s just math.”
He started to rise from his chair, irritated, but held himself back because of the setting.
“Sophia, do you really think you have the strength to fight me right now in your condition?”
My condition. He didn’t even need to say in a wheelchair again. He pointed to it with his eyes. I remained silent for a second. And then I did the one thing he didn’t expect. I laughed softly, not with happiness, but with contempt. I looked at him and said the simplest sentence in the world.
“You don’t get it, do you, Ethan?”
He frowned.
“Get what?”
