Braylen sat on the couch with his daughters sleeping on his chest, unsure which pain to feel first. Betrayal or failure.
Within days, his attorney discovered the second blow. Unauthorized transfers. Payments to a suspicious agency in New Jersey. Sabrina had drained funds from Monroe Design House. The creditors now demanded full invoices. Suppliers threatened to pull out. His business, his dream, the studio he had built from nothing, was collapsing like a house of cards in a storm.
He sat with his head in his hands in the dining room, surrounded by financial statements that looked like death sentences. Dalia entered quietly and paused near the doorway.
“If you want privacy,” she offered, “I can give you space.”
He shook his head. “I am not sure what I need.”
She hesitated. Then she walked to the counter and pulled out a worn notebook. She flipped it open to a page covered in careful handwriting and neat numbers.
“This is an emergency fund I have saved,” she explained. “For many years. I never knew what I was saving it for. I think I know now.”