Saturday was busy at the diner.
We had a group of customers arrive after a high school basketball game.
The kitchen was full.
Orders were coming in faster than I could read them.
I was working the grill when Peg called me toward the office.
She looked serious.
I wiped my hands.
"What's wrong?"
She closed the office door.
"Faron called again."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What did he say this time?"
"He asked whether I had noticed any missing money."
I looked at her.
"He actually said that?"
Peg nodded.
"He asked whether you had been handling the register alone."
I felt my face grow hot.
I had spent twenty-two years working in that diner.
I knew where every receipt went.
I knew how the daily totals were recorded.
I had never taken anything.
"Peg, I swear—"
She raised her hand.
"Stop."
I went quiet.
"I know you."
She pulled a chair out.
"Sit down."
I sat.
Peg opened a drawer and removed a folder.
Inside were old schedules and work records.
She explained that she had kept years of documentation.
The register totals.
The shift reports.
The deposits.
Everything.
"He's trying to frighten you," she said.
I looked at the papers.
"He's trying to make me look like a thief."
"Then he'll have to explain why."
I swallowed.
"I don't want trouble for you."
Peg shook her head.
"Angela, you haven't caused any trouble."
She closed the folder.
"Faron did that himself."
I looked at the floor.
For years, I had been afraid of exactly this.
Not because I had done anything wrong.
Because I knew how easily people could believe a rumor.
A divorced woman.
A small town.
A former husband willing to say whatever helped him.
Peg seemed to understand.
"Listen to me. If he makes an accusation, I'll show the records."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
She stood up.
"Now go finish those orders. The customers aren't going to cook their own breakfast."
I laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh I'd had all morning.
Back in the kitchen, I returned to the grill.
I kept thinking about the folder in Peg's office.
I realized something.
Faron had threatened me because he believed I would protect my reputation by giving him what he wanted.
He had counted on my fear.
He had counted on my silence.
He had counted on me being the same woman who paid his bills for eleven years.
But I wasn't going to put another charge on my account just to keep him comfortable.
That afternoon, I asked Peg whether I could have copies of my recent work records.
She looked surprised.
"Of course. Why?"
"Just in case."
She nodded.
We made copies of the schedules and the relevant register reports.
I placed them in the same folder as my bank statements.
When I got home, I put the folder in the kitchen drawer.
Beside it was the folded paper with the eighty-thousand-dollar estimate.
I didn't hide either one.
I wanted to remember the truth.
That evening, I made a pot of coffee.
I sat at the table with my mother's recipe box.
I opened the pierogi card again.
The old handwriting was uneven.
My mother had written the measurements in the margins.
I remembered her standing beside me when I was a girl.
She had taught me to cook without wasting anything.
She had taught me to work hard.
But she had never taught me to let somebody else take everything I earned.
I wished I had understood that sooner.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: When I Found the Old Photograph of Our First Christmas Together, I Finally Stopped Confusing the Man I Remembered With the Man Who Left
I Thought Being a Good Wife Meant Never Making My Husband Feel the Weight of His Own Mistakes
Part 11 of 20
