I shook my head, the muscles in my throat tightening. “Not one payment.”

Before Augustin could reply, the door swung open with a clatter. My husband, Harrison Blythe, and his mother, Dahlia, entered, arms laden with shopping bags emblazoned with high-end designer logos. They claimed to have returned from errands, yet the moment they saw Augustin, their cheerful composure faltered.

Dahlia froze first, clutching her bags as though they could shield her. Harrison’s grin vanished, his eyes flicking between me and my grandfather, reading the question in my own face.