I couldn’t stop watching her.
Every little thing that hadn’t bothered me before started bothering me now.
The expensive vacations.
The flowers.
The jewelry.
David always chose them.
David always paid.
David always planned everything.
I wondered when Rachel had last chosen anything herself.
She barely spoke while we ate dessert.
When someone wished her happy birthday again, she smiled and thanked them.
But the smile vanished the second they looked away.
Later, David stepped outside to take a call.
Rachel stood.
“I’m going to the restroom.”
I waited a few seconds, then followed her.
She was standing at the sink when I walked in.
She looked at me through the mirror.
“What?”
I closed the door behind me.
“What’s going on?”
She forced a laugh.
“He’s just careful with our finances.”
“Rachel, he took your card.”
Her smile disappeared.
For the first time that night, she looked scared.
Not embarrassed.
Scared.
Her expression suddenly changed.
She checked the restroom stalls before whispering:
“It’s not really my card.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Rachel swallowed.
Then she spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.
“I haven’t had access to our accounts in almost two years.”
Before I could respond, the restroom door opened.
Rachel stepped away from me so fast that her hip hit the counter.
A woman from the restaurant walked in, glanced at us, and headed for a stall.
Rachel immediately turned on the faucet.
I stared at her reflection.
She wouldn’t look at me.
For the next few seconds, the only sound between us was running water.
Then Rachel grabbed a paper towel.
“We should go back.”
“No.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“Marissa.”
“You just told me you haven’t had access to your own money in almost two years.”
“Keep your voice down.”
That scared me more than anything else she had said.
Rachel had never asked me to be quiet in her life.
She had always been the louder one.
The woman in the stall flushed the toilet.
Rachel pressed her lips together.
I waited until the woman washed her hands and left.
Then I looked directly at my sister.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
Rachel’s shoulders dropped.
For a moment, she looked exhausted.
Not tired from dinner.
Tired in a way I hadn’t noticed before.
“David handles everything,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Everything.”
She twisted the paper towel in her hands.
“My paycheck goes into the joint account.”
“And you can’t access it?”
She shook her head.
“He changed the passwords.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“When?”
“Almost two years ago.”
“Why?”
Rachel gave a bitter little laugh.
“He said I was spending too much.”
“On what?”
“Groceries. Clothes. Lunch at work.”
I stared at her.
“That isn’t overspending.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
That was when I understood she had been telling herself the same thing for a long time.
I moved closer.
“Rachel, why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked ashamed.
“I didn’t know how.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
I had spent years believing she was living some perfect life.
Meanwhile, she had been trying to figure out how to explain that she couldn’t even buy dessert on her own birthday.
“What about the flowers?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“What?”
“The vacations. The jewelry. All of it.”
Rachel’s face changed.
She looked almost angry now.
“That’s his money.”
“No. If your paycheck goes into the account, some of it is yours.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why does he act like he’s giving you everything?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because that’s what he wants everyone to think.”
There it was.
The first crack in the picture I had accepted for years.
Rachel looked down at her hands.
“The trips are his idea. The jewelry is what he wants to buy. The flowers are what he wants people to see.”
I thought about every Friday arrangement.
Every anniversary photo.
Every time I had envied how loved she seemed.
“What happens if you want something?”
She swallowed.
“I ask.”
The word made my stomach twist.
“You ask him?”
She nodded.
“For money?”
Another nod.
“How much does he give you?”
“Usually $50 at a time.”
I actually laughed.
It wasn’t because anything was funny.
It was disbelief.
“Rachel, you’re an adult.”
“I know.”
“You work.”
“I know.”
“You earn your own money.”
“I know, Marissa.”
Her voice rose.
Then she covered her mouth.
For a second, we just stared at each other.
Her eyes were wet.
Mine probably were too.
“I know,” she whispered again. “That’s the worst part.”
I softened.
“Okay.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I kept thinking it would get better.”
“Has it?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
She looked toward the door.
“If I’m late, he’ll come looking for me.”
That sentence made something inside me go cold.
“Does he check where you are?”
Rachel hesitated.
“My phone.”
“What about it?”
“He can see my location.”
I took a slow breath.
“Does he read your messages?”
“Sometimes.”
I felt anger rise so quickly that I had to control my voice.
“Does he ever hurt you?”
Rachel looked at me.
“No.”
I held her gaze.
“Has he ever threatened you?”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
She looked away.
“Not exactly.”
I waited.
She rubbed her thumb across the edge of the damp paper towel.
