“You know how he is.”
I looked at him.
“That’s what everyone says instead of stopping him.”
Jake interrupted.
“Are you two finished talking about me like I’m not here?”
“I’m done repeating myself,” I said. “You have the estimate.”
“Are you two finished talking about me like I’m not here?”
“I’m not paying it.”
The call ended.
I opened my contacts.
Nathan’s number was already there because he and Sasha had been part of Timothy’s circle long before we got married. We’d celebrated birthdays together, shared cookouts, and exchanged countless group messages, so calling him didn’t feel awkward.
He answered on the second ring.
Sasha was with him.
“I need to know what happened in the car,” I said.
Nathan fell quiet.
A moment later, Sasha spoke from beside him.
“Jake told us drinks were allowed.”
“I told him no drinks.”
“We didn’t know that,” Nathan replied.
“When things started spilling, I asked him to pull over,” Sasha added.
“What did he say?”
Nathan let out a slow breath.
“He said Timothy would smooth it over and probably clean it up.”
I turned toward my husband.
Sasha continued.
“He said you’d forgive Timothy, and the whole thing would disappear.”
The expression on Timothy’s face changed immediately.
Jake hadn’t simply made a careless decision.
He had counted on my silence from the very beginning.
Nathan offered to help cover the repair bill.
“No,” I said. “You can apologize. Jake can pay.”
—
I printed the clearest photograph of the ruined back seat and placed Jake’s own words beneath it.
“IT’S JUST A CAR.”
Behind the frame, I attached the repair estimate, photographs of the damage, and a note quoting his refusal to pay.
—next page
