“To live on. To have some peace of mind.”
“Darius, your mother has Social Security and she has her condo. If she truly needs money, she can sell her condo like she said herself, or find a part‑time job.”
“At her age?”
Kiana turned around, wiping her hands on a towel.
“She’s sixty‑two. Plenty of women her age are working.”
Darius frowned.
“You’ve gotten so cold.”
“Not cold. Realistic.”
He didn’t answer.
They spent the rest of the evening in strained silence.
Kiana read a book.
Darius watched some reality show on TV, laughing a little too loudly at nothing.
Before bed, he went into the bathroom, splashed around for a while, then came out, lay down, and buried his face in his phone.
Kiana closed her book and lay down next to him.
The darkness was thick.
The wind rustled outside the window.
She heard Darius fidgeting under the blanket, typing something on his phone.
He was probably texting his mother, planning.
Kiana turned onto her side, facing the wall.
Inside, she was surprisingly calm, almost indifferent.
Five years of marriage, it turned out, could be wiped out by one conversation in the kitchen, one decision to steal a wife’s money, and a conspiracy with his mother.
She remembered how they met.
A typical story: mutual friends, a party, talking until morning.
Darius seemed interesting then, vibrant.
He joked, told stories, and knew how to listen.
Then came the flowers, the walks, the first kiss in the rain on a downtown corner.
Romance.
The wedding was modest.
Kiana insisted on it.
She didn’t want the grandeur, the guests, the debt from the banquet.
Darius easily agreed, saying the main thing was being together, not putting on a show.
Good words.
Too bad they were empty.
The next day, Kiana got up early.
Darius was still sleeping, taking up the whole bed.
She dressed quietly, took her purse, and left the apartment.
It was cool outside, smelling of wet leaves and someone’s chimney smoke from the older houses a few blocks away.
Kiana walked slowly, thinking over her plan.
The card with the three dollars was in her wallet.
The old PIN—3806—was still active on it.
Darius knew it.
About three years ago, she had asked him to take money out of an ATM for her because she couldn’t get away from work.
He did it and brought the cash.
She hadn’t worried then that he might remember the PIN.
Now, that was to her advantage.
Her main card was in a different section of the wallet.
Its PIN was new, different.
Darius didn’t know it and wouldn’t find out.
Kiana went into the neighborhood grocery store on the corner, bought bread, milk, and eggs, then stepped outside and stood by the pharmacy window, looking at the vitamin ads taped to the glass.
Life went on.
People rushed to their jobs.
Buses rattled at the stops.
A crow cawed in the distance.
An ordinary day.
She returned home around noon.
Darius was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and looking out the window at the parking lot.
When she walked in, he spun around sharply.
“Where were you?”
“At the store.”
Kiana put the bag on the counter.
“We were out of groceries.”
