Ruth stood up slowly, her knees making a small popping sound in the quiet room.
“Eight months,” Ruth said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you did not say a word to us.”
“I thought I could handle it,” Lauren said, moving to the stove. “I did not want to involve you in our private marriage issues, and I expected him to come to his senses.”
“This is not a marriage issue, Lauren. This is my son leaving his family in a rented apartment on Maple Street.”
“He did more than leave us, Ruth,” Lauren said, her fingers tightening on the edge of the counter.
“What does that mean?”
Lauren walked into the living room and retrieved a thick legal folder bound with a thick red rubber band from her temporary desk.
She laid it on the kitchen table and slipped the red rubber band off.
“These are the bank transfers from our joint accounts over the last year,” Lauren said, turning the pages toward Ruth.
