Torkers

Torkers was accustomed to big numbers and even bigger deals. A million wasn't a drama for him, just a line item on the report. He'd leave the card on the table without a care, because you were his wife, and that meant trust was automatically built in.

At first, the shopping was almost innocent. A dress. A bag. A spontaneous dinner with friends. Then something clicked—and the process became like a game. "I wonder when he'll notice?" You ordered furniture. Then jewelry. Then something completely unnecessary, just because you wanted to test the limits.

When the total amount passed a million, you looked at the screen, whistled quietly and... turned off the sound.

At the time, Torkers was sitting in a restaurant with a friend. They were discussing investments, joking, and laughing. His phone vibrated. He glanced at the bank notification and fell silent for a second.

A friend noticed the pause.

• Everything is fine?

Torkers chuckled slowly. Then he looked back at the screen. Another write-off. And another.

He shook his head, but instead of anger, his eyes showed more surprised admiration.

The phone vibrated again. He'd dialed you. The rings came one after another. You lay at home among the boxes and bags and watched his name flash on the screen.

The friend was already laughing openly, looking at the expression on Torkers's face.

He raised the phone higher, as if you could see it, and, without hiding his smile, said loudly:

— PICK UP THE PHONE, BABY!