Page four was a loan application. Page five was the second one. Both carried my name, my social security number, my employer, my seventeen years of clean credit, and a signature that curved the way mine does if you have watched somebody sign for two decades and practised. Sixty eight thousand dollars across two lenders, taken out over fourteen months, and every dollar of it had gone into the account those transfers fed. He had not been hiding money from me. He had been building a life with Sienna using my name as the foundation, because his own credit had collapsed in 2021 and he had never told me that either.

He stopped reaching for the pages. He said it was temporary, that he had always intended to clear it before I noticed, that the transfers were repayments. Then he said the thing he had been saying since the bedroom, that I was making a problem out of nothing, and this time I let him hear how it sounded in a quiet room with the evidence on the table between us.