Chapter 3: The Car, the Lie, the Loss

Two days before my wedding leave ended, I got a call from the dealership—my car had arrived.

It was like finally seeing the sun after a week of rain. I’d been counting down the days, itching for some independence. The subway was getting old, fast.

Perfect timing. I could pick it up today, so I wouldn’t have to squeeze onto the subway and bus every day for work.

I imagined myself behind the wheel, windows down, music blasting—a little taste of freedom. I couldn’t wait.

Emily and I went to the dealership. The salesperson greeted us warmly and showed us the car.

He was all smiles and handshakes, eager to make the sale. The car gleamed under the showroom lights, and I felt a surge of pride. This was a big step.

“Babe, it smells so strong in here,” Emily said, wrinkling her nose.

She made a face, waving her hand in front of her nose. I laughed, remembering the smell of every new car I’d ever sat in—plastic and promise.

The salesperson smiled. “All new cars have a bit of a smell. Just air it out and it’ll be fine.”

He spoke with practiced ease, clearly used to this objection. I could tell he’d been through this routine a hundred times.

“It doesn’t look classy. Kinda juvenile.”

Emily’s tone was skeptical, her brows furrowed. I shot her a look, surprised—she’d loved this model before.

“This is our new model for the year. The design is sporty and stylish.”

The salesperson’s smile tightened, but he kept his pitch upbeat. I wondered if he sensed trouble brewing.

“And the trunk is way too small.”

She opened the trunk, shaking her head. “How are we supposed to fit groceries in here?”

“For everyday use, it’s plenty big enough for a family’s luggage. Plus, we upgraded the backseat space for more comfort on long trips.”

He pointed out the extra legroom, trying to salvage the sale. I watched Emily, confused by her sudden change of heart.

…

Emily kept picking at the car’s flaws, and the salesperson went from patient to a little exasperated.

His smile faded, replaced by polite indifference. I felt awkward, wishing we could just get on with it.

I stayed quiet, thinking maybe Emily was nitpicking to bargain on the price. But the way she kept finding fault with every little thing just wasn’t like her.

She avoided my gaze. Fingers drummed on the counter. Something was definitely up.

When the salesperson left to get us some water, I asked, “You don’t like this car?”

I kept my voice gentle, not wanting to start a fight in public. She shook her head, eyes darting to the floor.

She picked at her fingers.

It was a nervous habit I’d seen before—usually when she was hiding something.

“Which one do you like?”

I tried to sound supportive, but inside, I was getting anxious. She pointed to a cheaper model—just over $16,000, while the one I’d ordered was nearly $45,000.

She hesitated, then pointed to a car in the corner, smaller and plainer. I raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Last time we came, she’d loved the more expensive car. Why the sudden change?

I racked my brain, trying to remember if something had changed. Had I missed a conversation?

“Hey, the wedding gift money is still with you, right?” I probed.

I tried to keep my tone light, but the question hung between us. She froze, her face paling.

“It’s… with me. Why?”

She stammered, eyes wide. I felt a sinking feeling in my gut.

I could see the truth written all over her face. My stomach twisted.

“Great. I’ll stick with the original car, then. I’ll pay and pick it up today.”

I said it firmly, watching her reaction. She bit her lip, hesitating.

“No, that one’s too expensive. It’s just a car for getting around. Why not…”

She trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. I stared at her, waiting for the real reason.

She tried to persuade me, but my stare made her voice falter.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. She looked away, shoulders slumping.

She pressed her lips together, and finally confessed—the wedding gift money and her bridal gift money had been taken by my mother-in-law, who said she could invest it to earn interest.

I felt the floor drop out from under me.

Her words tumbled out in a rush, like she was afraid she’d lose her nerve if she stopped. I listened, numb with disbelief.

“You made such a big decision without telling me?” I was furious, my voice rising.

I couldn’t help it—my anger boiled over. I tried to keep my voice down, but it still echoed in the empty showroom.

She shrank back, scared. “Mom said we’ll have lots of expenses in the future. She was afraid we’d spend recklessly, and the bank’s interest is low. Her friend can get a higher return.”

She looked so small, hugging her purse to her chest. I felt a mix of anger and pity.

“Are you kidding me? How many times have we seen news stories about people losing everything chasing high interest rates? That’s a lot of money. How could you?”

I tried to reason with her, but she just shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes.

“No, Mom said her friend is super reliable. Really, she’d never hurt me.”

She sounded so sure, but I could hear the doubt creeping in. I wanted to shake her, to make her see reason.

…