My wife, Sarah, gave birth to our daughter just two weeks earlier. Since then, sleep had become something she borrowed in short bursts. Three hours a night, if she was lucky.
The delivery had been hard on her, and even now, she moved carefully, as if her body hadn’t fully caught up yet.
Sleep had become something she borrowed.
***
A few dozen close friends and relatives came to see baby Maria one day.
That same day, Tiffany, Sarah’s “best friend,” called and said she wanted to stop by after initially saying she had something else to do. Sarah agreed, and I mistakenly figured maybe it would help; maybe seeing Tiffany would lift my wife’s spirits.
I should’ve known better, because instead, it turned into a nightmare.
I mistakenly figured maybe it would help.
***
Tiffany didn’t come in like someone visiting a new mother. She walked through the door as if she were arriving at a glamorous event. Heels clicking, hair done, makeup perfect. She carried herself with an air of superiority that was stronger than her expensive perfume.
Other guests included my sister Lauren, Sarah’s cousin Emily, and a couple of neighbors. They’d shown up with casseroles, gifts, and well-wishes, unlike Tiffany.
She carried herself with an air of superiority.
Sarah sat on the couch, cradling Maria gently, clearly exhausted. Regardless, she remained present, doing her best.
That’s when it started.
Tiffany barely looked at the baby before moving her focus to Sarah. She looked my wife up and down with a pitying smirk.
“Oh, honey,” she giggled, “Maria is just breathtaking! It’s so sad she took every last bit of your beauty with her. You used to be the pretty one, but those days are officially behind you, aren’t they? You look… well, like you’ve aged 20 years in a fortnight!”
That’s when it started.
The room went still.
Sarah didn’t respond, but her eyes filled with tears. She just lowered her gaze and bit her lip. I watched her fingers tighten slightly around Maria’s blanket.
But Tiffany kept going.
She spoke about how she was glad she hadn’t “ruined” herself by having children, laughing as if she were the only one in on the joke.
That’s when a cold rage started building inside me, because this wasn’t new.
Her eyes filled with tears.
***
I knew Tiffany had been jealous of Sarah for years, and now she was feeding off her vulnerability.
A week earlier, I’d overheard her making a similar comment to my wife on a video call, same tone and edge.
So that day, I didn’t yell or throw Tiffany out.
Instead, I stepped away.
No one paid much attention as I walked down into the guest room. I opened the closet and pulled out the box I’d put together days earlier after overhearing Tiffany’s comment on that video call.
Then I went back.
She was feeding off her vulnerability.
“Tiffany,” I said, cutting her off mid-sentence, “I have something special for you. A little gift so you remember this visit.”
She lit up immediately.
“Really? What’s that?” she asked, clearly expecting something expensive.
I handed it to her. It was a box wrapped in black silk.
She didn’t hesitate, but the moment she pulled back the silk, her smile dropped.
Inside was a gold-colored binder, neatly tabbed, organized, and impossible to misread. She flipped it open halfway, then paused as if it might burn her.
“Really? What’s that?”
I stepped forward.
“Go ahead, you might as well look at it properly.”
Tiffany shook her head. “I… I don’t know what this is.”
“You do,” I said.
“What is it, Jack?” Sarah asked quietly.
“Tiffany knows,” I responded.
Tiffany slowly opened the binder fully, and I watched the color drain from her face.
She took a step back, eyes fixed on what was inside.
“No… no, you weren’t supposed to have this…”
But people had already leaned in enough to understand that something was wrong.
“I… I don’t know what this is.”
People stopped talking and stared.
I reached over and turned the binder toward the room. Inside were Sarah’s bank statements.
Page after page.
Every transfer from Sarah to Tiffany was highlighted.
At first, the amounts were small. Then they got bigger and more frequent.
What began as infrequent support started appearing as a regular occurrence.
I’d known about it for a long time from Sarah’s late-night vents and her passing complaints.
People stopped talking and stared.
“She just needs a little help.”
“It’s temporary.”
“I couldn’t say no.”
I never pushed Sarah, but I remembered.
“Tiffany,” I said, “those are all the times Sarah helped you out. Loans you promised to return. Situations that were always ‘just this once.'”
Tiffany let out a short laugh.
“Oh, please, that’s not, those weren’t loans, that was just—”
“Support?” I said. “Funny how it only goes one way.”
No one spoke.
I never pushed Sarah, but I remembered.
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