Chapter 3: The Invoice on the Table
I didn't stand up.
I didn't raise my voice.
I just looked at Carson and said, "Flip it over."
He stared at me for a moment.
Garrett was still half-inside the doorway, sunburned and smelling like salt water.
Paige came in behind him, pulling off her hat, already scanning the kitchen with that expression she wore when she expected to find dinner waiting.
The kitchen was empty.
The sink was full.
Nothing had moved.
"Brenda." Carson's voice had dropped.
"What is going on?"
"I said flip it over."
He picked up the document.
His eyes moved across the top line.
Then he set it back down without flipping to the second page.
"This is a joke."
"It's an invoice.
Line-itemed, dated, and calculated at standard market rates for the Columbus metro area.
I can pull up the sourcing data if you'd like."
Paige stepped forward and snatched the paper off the table.
Her eyes went wide.
"Four thousand eight hundred and forty dollars?"
"That's the two-week projection.
Today's services would have been billed separately as a partial day, but since no services were rendered, today is at zero."
"You didn't do anything." Paige's voice had gone sharp.
"You sat here all day and did nothing."
"That's correct.
Because I'm on vacation."
Carson put both hands flat on the table.
"Brenda, stop.
You're embarrassing yourself."
"I'm a financial cost analyst, Carson.
This is literally what I do.
You asked me to provide professional domestic services for six people across fourteen days.
I priced it out.
If you'd like to negotiate the rate, I'm open to that conversation."
Garrett let out a short, uncomfortable laugh.
"She's serious."
"Of course I'm serious." I looked at him directly.
"You sent my husband an email four months ago.
Subject line: Cape May.
You wanted to confirm I wouldn't be a problem."
The laugh stopped.
"I don't know what you're—"
"He replied in three words." I kept my voice level.
"I have the email.
I forwarded it to myself this afternoon."
The room went very quiet.
Paige turned to look at Garrett.
Garrett looked at Carson.
Carson looked at me with an expression I had never seen on his face before — not anger, not embarrassment.
Something closer to calculation.
Like he was deciding which version of this story he could still salvage.
"That email was taken out of context," he said finally.
"What context would make it better?"
He didn't answer.
I closed my laptop.
Picked up my phone.
Stood up from the table.
"I'm going to find a hotel.
I'll use the three thousand dollars I saved.
My money.
For my vacation."
"Brenda, you are not walking out of here."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Carson.
You planned this four months in advance.
You lied to me about the hotel.
You handed me a chore list before I put down my suitcase.
And your only defense is that I'm embarrassing myself." I picked up my bag.
"I'm not embarrassed.
I'm done."
I walked toward the hallway.
Behind me, I heard Paige say quietly to Garrett, "Do something."
And Garrett said, just as quietly: "What exactly do you want me to do?"
I didn't stop walking.
But I heard Carson's voice follow me down the hall, and what he said made me slow my steps without meaning to.
"If you walk out that door, don't expect me to come after you.
And don't expect anything to be the same when you get back."
I stood at the end of the hallway with my hand on my suitcase.
May you like
He meant it as a threat.
I felt it land like a door finally opening.
