Marcus stared at the notification, then at me, his thumb frozen over the screen. “What does this mean? Why is the account restricted?” I shifted Poppy higher on my shoulder as her crying faded into quiet hiccups. “It means someone reported suspicious activity,” I said. “Repeated withdrawals that didn’t match the account holder’s normal spending. Handbags, salons, champagne lunches. All flagged.”

His face drained of color. “You reported our account?”

“I reported unauthorized spending on an account with my name on it,” I corrected. “That’s not reporting us. That’s reporting her.” His phone began buzzing with Sandra’s calls, one after another. Marcus finally looked afraid. “Nora,” he asked, “how long have you been planning this?” I looked down at our daughter and answered honestly. “Since the day my card was declined while buying diapers.” Then I told him I had spent months quietly documenting every transaction—and that what the bank found next would expose everything.