Chapter 4
The basement smelled like cardboard, detergent, and the faint dampness that never quite left the concrete walls. I went down after school to find the folder Dad kept for household documents, because he had asked me to locate the warranty for the old dehumidifier.
Martha’s things had begun collecting along one wall. Folded blankets sat in plastic bins. A changing table leaned against the support post, still wrapped in clear plastic. Someone had stacked packages of diapers beside the utility sink, their bright labels making the unfinished room look even grayer.
The document folder was on a metal shelf behind the baby supplies. When I pulled it free, a small pile of receipts slid out and scattered across the floor.
I crouched to gather them. Most were for groceries, cleaning supplies, and hardware. Then I noticed the dates.
A stroller deposit. Two boxes of diapers. A portable bassinet. A set of blackout curtains. A receipt from a furniture store with Martha’s name printed beneath the transaction number.
I laid them on the lid of one of the plastic bins and took out the copy of Dad’s spreadsheet from my purse. The page had three broad lines under household expenses: utilities, maintenance, and additional family costs. No names. No itemized amounts.
The total beside additional family costs was almost exactly the amount of the baby purchases.
I checked the dates again. Some of the receipts were from before Martha’s things had started coming downstairs. One was from the week Dad had first told me the rent might change.
My throat tightened, but I kept my pen steady. I wrote the receipt amounts in the margin of the spreadsheet, then added them together on the back of an old envelope. The figure was too large to dismiss as a few household necessities, but not large enough to prove anything beyond what was printed in front of me.
That distinction mattered. I didn't want a dramatic accusation. I wanted an answer that could survive being looked at closely.
Martha appeared at the bottom of the stairs holding her coffee mug. Her long dark hair was pulled over one shoulder, and she paused when she saw the receipts arranged in rows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trying to understand the budget.”
Her eyes moved from the spreadsheet to the receipts. “Dad said he was adding some costs because the house would be using more utilities.”
“Utilities don't include a stroller.”
She looked down at the mug. For several seconds, the only sound was the dehumidifier clicking on.
“I knew they expected you to help,” she said. “I didn't know they were putting all my purchases into your rent.”
“They're calling them shared costs.”
“I didn't tell him to do that.”
“But you knew about the schedule?”
Her expression shifted, not quite defensive and not quite ashamed. “I knew Mom thought you could watch the baby during the day. I thought you would say no if you wanted to.”
I folded the receipts into a neat stack. “They didn't ask me.”
Martha rubbed her thumb along the mug’s handle. “I need help, Abby. I’m not pretending I don’t. But I didn't ask for you to pay for everything.”
The admission landed more heavily than an argument would have. I placed the receipts back into the folder, keeping the ones with Martha’s name separate.
Dad was in the living room when I came upstairs. He sat at the coffee table with his glasses low on his nose, reviewing another copy of the spreadsheet. The television was on without sound.
“I found receipts that seem to be included under additional family costs,” I said.
He didn't look up. “Those are household expenses.”
“Can you give me a complete accounting? Which charges are utilities, which are maintenance, and which are Martha’s purchases?”
His pen stopped moving.
“Why are you making this adversarial?”
“I’m asking for a breakdown before I agree to a higher rent.”
Dad set the pen beside the spreadsheet. “This family has always shared sacrifices. We don't keep score every time someone needs help.”
“I’m not asking to keep score. I’m asking what I’m being charged for.”
His mouth tightened. “Your mother and I have spent years keeping this house stable. We aren't going to have our reputation questioned over a few baby items.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what this sounds like.”
Behind me, Martha had reached the top of the stairs. Dad glanced toward her, then back at me, as if he expected her presence to settle the matter.
I picked up the spreadsheet.
May you like
“Until I see the numbers clearly,” I said, “I’m not agreeing to the rent increase or any childcare schedule.”
Dad’s face hardened, but Martha didn't leave. She stood beside the doorway, holding her mug with both hands, watching him refuse the simple answer.
