Chapter 3 - The Frozen FoyerJulian stood frozen in the entryway, his eyes darting frantically around the foyer like a trapped animal. The polished marble floor was completely bare. The expensive antique mirror he had bought at an auction in Chicago was gone, replaced by a blank white wall.
“Claire?” Julian called out, his voice echoing unnaturally in the cavernous, half-empty hallway. “Claire, where are you? Why is the entryway... what happened to the furniture?”
I didn't answer right away. I remained seated at the kitchen island around the corner, calmly taking another slow sip of my tea. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, until Julian’s heavy footsteps echoed sharply against the hardwood floor as he stalked into the kitchen.
He stopped at the edge of the island, his face a mask of utter confusion and rising irritation.
“Are you deaf?” he demanded, throwing his duffel bag onto the floor with a loud thud. “I asked you what’s going on. Where’s the entryway bench? Where are my golf clubs that were by the coat rack? And why does the whole house feel like a ghost town?”
I slowly lowered my teacup, setting it down on the marble surface with a soft clink. I looked up, meeting his bloodshot, bewildered eyes with a gaze so cold it made him visibly flinch.
“Welcome home, Julian,” I said, my voice smooth, quiet, and completely devoid of the exhaustion that used to define every interaction between us. “Did you catch any fish?”
Julian blinked, shaking his head as if trying to wake himself up from a bizarre dream. “What are you talking about? Fish? Claire, look at me. What is happening in this house? Did we get robbed? Did you call the police?”
“No one was robbed,” I replied evenly. “We didn't need the police. The movers were professional, licensed, and insured.”
Julian’s jaw dropped. “Movers? What movers?! You hired movers while I was away? With what money?!”
“With the money from the joint account that you haven’t looked at in three days,” I said, leaning back in my stool and crossing my arms over my chest. “Though you might want to check your banking app right now. You’ll find it’s a bit... restrictive.”
Panic flashed across Julian’s face. He ripped his smartphone out of his jacket pocket, his trembling fingers punching his passcode with frantic speed. He opened his banking app, stared at the screen for three seconds, and then let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-shriek.
“Zero?!” Julian roared, slamming the phone down onto the kitchen island so hard the screen cracked from corner to corner. “What do you mean, zero balance?! My payroll direct deposit was supposed to hit this morning! Where is my money?!”
“Your personal salary account is untouched, Julian,” I reminded him softly. “You’ll find your tech consultancy funds are safe and sound in your separate, private account—the one you’ve been using to pay for your weekend getaways, your expensive gear, and your late-night client dinners in downtown Chicago while I stayed home changing diapers.”
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Julian’s face turned a violent, mottled shade of crimson. Veins bulged along his temples. “That was business capital! You had no right to freeze our joint operational funds! How are we supposed to pay the mortgage? How are we supposed to buy groceries?!”
“We aren't,” I said, standing up from the stool and smoothing down my sweater. “Because this house doesn't belong to you anymore, Julian. And neither do I.”
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