Page 76 of The Logic of Loyalty

“Oh.” Realization flashes across her face, and tears spring to her eyes. She unfolds the paper methodically and straightens it on her lap. As her eyes pass over the words written there, her mouth pops open in a silent gasp. “Trevor,” her voice is small, confused, and she’s never going to forgive me. “What did you do?”

I shake my head. It’s all right there, anyway.

“The borrower agrees to pursue a degree of the lender’s choice—” She drops the paper and spears me with accusation in her eyes. “You said you wanted to go in a different direction.”

“I did. I was highly motivated to do so.”

“The borrower agrees to work at the location of the lender’s choosing. The job description may be modified!” She lowers the paper again and stares into space, blinks a few times, then looks at the paper again. Her mouth shapes the words of the document I signed without her knowledge so many years ago. She stops reading and looks lost a few more times before she finally places it on the couch beside her. Turning to me, she leans over, hands clasped together, and eyes sad. “Trevor, what did you do?”

I don’t need to read it again. The words are scraped raw into my mind. The agreement I made when my young wife nearly died, while my child was hooked up to a ventilator, I was eighteen with only an old car and a merit-based scholarship to our name.

The borrower agrees to pursue a degree of the lender’s choice, completing a minimum of fifteen course hours a semester while maintaining a 3.8 GPA.

The borrower agrees to work at the location of lender’s choosing until the loan is paid or the lender determines this condition fulfilled. The borrower agrees to perform all of the job duties outlined in the job description to the best of their ability. The job description may be modified during the life of the loan as the lender deems necessary.

The borrower agrees not to disclose any details of this loan with a third party, regardless of relation.

The borrower agrees to surrender future assets as collateral at the lender’s discretion if a payment is late or the borrower defaults on any of the required stipulations.

The borrower agrees to pay a percentage of their net income, to the lender’s discretion, until the loan is paid in full.

The borrower agrees to these conditions and understands that if any point of agreement is breached, any remaining balance, and an additional 20% interest will be due immediately.

“I was terrified.”

“This is horrendous. I can’t … I can barely wrap my head around these terms. What could make you agree to such a thing?”

“Desperation.” The description matches the state of my mind perfectly that day in my father’s study. “I would have signed away my soul those days, Paige. My legs, my arms, my organs. I would have given up everything in my possession—mind, body, soul, breath in my fucking lungs, to make sure you and our son had a safe place to rest your head at night.”

I palm the rock in my pocket and close my eyes—shame creeping over my skin, leaving a thin film of filth that makes me itch. Then, a warm, clean touch on my hand, and my wife is sitting in front of me, eyes on me, hands on my own. My body lasers in on those points of contact—soft, warm, mine.

“Why now? This is a significant amount of money. I know we have never had to worry … I mean. I—” Her mouth snaps shut, and her brows wrinkle. The soft version of my wife washes away the filth. I put my hand atop hers and squeeze them gently.

“I have it all. Everything I owe is there. It’s only … it will draw our accounts, but I have a plan. We will not lose the house or miss any payments. I want you to know, finally see, and hopefully understand a little.” I lift our hands and rest my forehead over them. “I never expected—I didn’t think—fuck.”

She pulls her hands from me, but then brushes her fingers across the scruff of my cheek until I look up to her deep brown eyes. “It won’t drain our accounts.”

Uhh. “I’m sorry, Paige, but it’s still a lot of money I owe, and I’m trying to get out of there as soon as possible. If you’re not comfortable, I understand. I haven’t done it yet because I want you to be a part of the conversation. I know I took that from you before, and I⁠—”

“No, not that. I mean, our accounts. My account won’t be touched.”

I scratch my jaw. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, even the joint account⁠—”

“No, you big dummy. Don’t you remember? I couldn’t set up an account for direct deposit for some reason years ago, when I⁠—”

“Holy shit.” I completely forgot about that. How could I forget about it? Years ago. Years of working her job. “I blocked it before my father could find a way to include it in his terms. He assumed your income was inconsequential, and I didn’t want any evidence to the contrary. I couldn’t say anything to you because of the contract. I—holy shit. Do you use that account?”

“Barely touched it for years. Trevor, we are very comfortable. There are five years of wages in there that have barely seen a dent.”

“Five years of full paychecks?” I try to do the math, but I’m not even sure of her income.

“I have over $200,000 in my account.” My jaw drops.

Relief. Indescribable relief fills me with her words. Hours, days, years of looking at every cent, every cut corner, and saved dollar to justify this next step are now completely useless, and I couldn’t be happier.

“Is this why you refused to buy the house outright?” Paige gestures to the document that stole my choices, all of them but the one kneeling in front of me. The choice I would make over and over again until the day I die.

I palm the face of my little wife. “Paige.” I choke out her name and take in the calm joy of this revelation. “You’re safe.”