"Blowing it out of proportion?" My voice rose. "Troy, the money's been disappearing from our account, and you've visited that hotel eleven times over the past few months without telling me. You're lying about something. What is it?"
"You're supposed to trust me."
"I did trust you. I do, but you're not giving me anything to work with here."
He shook his head. "I can't do this right now."
"Can't or won't?"
"You're lying about something. What is it?"
He didn't answer.
I slept in the guest room that night. I asked him to explain himself again the next morning, but he refused.
"I can't live inside that kind of lie," I said. "I can't wake up every day and pretend I don't see what's happening."
Troy nodded once. "I figured you'd say that."
So, I called a lawyer.
"I can't live inside that kind of lie."
I didn't want to. God, I didn't want to, but I couldn't wake up every day wondering where my husband went when he left the house.
I couldn't look at our bank account and see money draining away to places I wasn't allowed to ask about.
***
Two weeks later, we sat across from each other in a lawyer's office.
Troy didn't look at me, barely spoke, and didn't even try to fight for our marriage. He just nodded at the appropriate times and signed where they told him to sign.
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