Chapter 4 - THE WEDDING WE COULD NOT AFFORD
I could afford the wedding.
That was what made the deception stranger.
I was comfortable.
Not billionaire comfortable.
Not private-jet comfortable.
I owned a successful commercial construction firm with two partners.
I had savings.
A house.
Retirement accounts.
We had agreed on a wedding budget of $85,000.
Ridiculous to some people.
Reasonable within our finances.
Ainsley had turned it into $200,000.
Without telling me.
Custom floral installations.
Imported table linens.
A second photographer.
Luxury guest transportation.
Designer welcome boxes.
A private after-party.
Ainsley’s attorney called them:
anticipated shared marital expenses.
There was no marriage.
And I had not approved them.
Did I know she liked expensive things?
Yes.
Did I know she cared about image?
Yes.
Did I know she was spending this far beyond our agreement?
No.
Then came her credit report through financial discovery connected to the canceled joint venue contract.
Personal credit-card debt:
$91,000.
Personal loan:
$58,000.
Designer-store financing:
$24,000.
None criminal.
All hidden.
Why?
Shame.
Status.
Maybe desperation.
Still not permission to sell Eira’s property.
Ainsley asked to meet.
Lawyers present.
Neutral office.
I agreed.
She walked in without the engagement ring.
Good.
She sat across from me.
“I did not slap Eira because of money.”
I stared.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You think I sold the jewelry and then attacked her because she found it.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why did you slap her?”
Ainsley looked down.
“Because she told me I wasn’t her mother.”
There.
Ugly.
Simple.
“Was that the first time?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her to call you Mom?”
“Yes.”
“After I told you not to pressure her?”
Her face tightened.
“I thought eventually it would feel natural.”
“For you.”
“For us.”
“No. For you.”
She looked away.
I placed the Merritt sale release on the table.
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize the sale?”
“I believed you had.”
“How?”
“You told me to stop treating the house like a museum.”
I felt that sentence hit exactly where it should.
I had said it.
“Did I say sell Eira’s jewelry?”
“No.”
“Did I say use the money for the wedding?”
“No.”
“Then answer the question.”
She swallowed.
“I copied your signature onto the release.”
There.
Her lawyer closed his eyes.
“Ainsley.”
“What? He already knows.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“I was going to replace the money.”
“With what?”
“After the wedding.”
“How?”
Silence.
Naomi leaned forward.
“Ms. Hale—”
Ainsley’s surname before marriage had not been specified in the prompt, but we need avoid introducing? Let's keep "Ainsley" only.
Naomi continued:
“With what funds?”
Ainsley looked at me.
“The house credit line.”
I frowned.
“What house credit line?”
Her face changed.
She realized I genuinely did not know.
That was the first time I saw fear.
Not embarrassment.
Fear.
“You said you were refinancing.”
“No.”
“You told me your accountant wanted to restructure.”
“My business line. Not the house.”
She went pale.
Naomi asked:
“Did you apply for home financing?”
Ainsley said nothing.
“Ainsley.”
Finally:
“I started an application.”
“In whose name?”
“Galen’s.”
I stood.
My lawyer touched my arm.
Not to restrain me.
A reminder.
I sat.
“What did you submit?”
“Prequalification paperwork.”
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
“Did you tell the lender you were authorized?”
“I said we were engaged.”
“That is not authorization.”
“I thought after marriage—”
“Marriage does not let you borrow against my house.”
Her lawyer interrupted.
“Stop.”
Good advice.
Too late.
I looked at Naomi.
“Can she?”
“We need title records.”
I knew whose name was on the mortgage I paid off years ago.
Mine.
Or I thought I did.
The house had originally belonged to my late wife’s family.
After her death, the estate lawyer handled title changes.
I had never questioned them.
Ainsley had apparently questioned them enough to find something.
Because as she gathered her papers to leave, she said:
“You should ask your lawyer who actually owns the house.”
Then she walked out.
Naomi stared at me.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
May you like
She opened her laptop.
And for the second time in a week, I discovered that grief had left me signing and filing documents I had never truly understood.
