The notification screen showed three pending charges flagged on Eleanor’s authorized department store card.

The first was two hundred ten dollars at a clothing boutique on Lake Street at eleven that morning.

The second was two hundred eighty dollars at the same boutique at two o’clock.

The third was one hundred fifty dollars, logged just before five in the afternoon.

Six hundred forty dollars altogether in a single day, none of it discussed or approved in our monthly household budget.

I took a screenshot of the pending charges and saved it straight to my personal cloud storage folder.

I went in the front door and set my briefcase on the bench in the entry hall.

The front room smelled of stale coffee and boiled cabbage.

Daniel was on the living room sofa in his beige cardigan with his laptop balanced on his knees.

“The roast sat out on the dining table until nine,” he said, keeping his eyes on the empty spreadsheet on his screen.

“The regional awards dinner went on the shared calendar three weeks ago,” I said, stepping to the edge of the rug.

Daniel lifted his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

“My mother spent two whole hours cooking a hot meal for three people,” he said, turning his head toward me.

“There are three pending charges on Eleanor’s store card from today adding up to six hundred forty dollars,” I said, keeping my voice soft and level.