I’d spent $1,380 building that wardrobe, purchasing things gradually whenever I could afford them.
That might not seem like an enormous fortune to some people, but I was preparing for unpaid maternity leave and a new baby.
Every purchase had been deliberate.
I had even saved the receipts.
When I finally found Nick in the kitchen, he was spreading mustard across a sandwich.
“Nick, where are my maternity clothes?”
He barely looked up.
“I took them to Tara’s place.”
I stared at him.
“Tara? Your sister?”
“Obviously.”
“Why would
