Evelyn sat in the kitchen eating pumpkin seeds, sitting like a royal queen in a house she didn't own and certainly didn't pay for.
“Has he already submitted his formal resignation to that company?” she asked, not even bothering to look up.
“Yes, I did it first thing this morning,” I lied, my voice trembling with a fake tone of defeat. “I’m not going back to the office.”
His eyes shone with pure predatory greed.
“Then take my card and go to the local market immediately.
I want the best cut of meat, fresh bones for the broth, seasonal fruit, and a jar of top-quality agave honey.
Patrick needs to eat like a king.”
“Of course I’ll go, Mom. Use the extra credit card I gave you; you already know the PIN by heart.”
She left the house happy, swinging a designer handbag that I had also bought her during my last business trip.
Half an hour later, my phone, which I had kept hidden, began buzzing with constant, rapid notifications: the transaction decreased, the transaction decreased, the transaction decreased.
I closed my eyes and imagined Evelyn standing in front of the butcher, her face bright red with embarrassment as the whole neighborhood watched her struggle to pay for a single kilo of meat.
Then Patrick started calling me.
Once. Five times. Ten times. I ignored every single one of them.
He sent me desperate text messages: “Why is the card being declined?”, “I’m currently at a restaurant with my boss and I don’t have any cash!”, “Transfer money to me right now, you’re making me look like a fool!”
At seven o'clock in the evening, he burst through the front door, his face purple with rage.
His shirt was wrinkled, his face was sweating, and his pride was clearly shattered.
“What exactly did you do with my credit cards?” he roared, pacing back and forth.
“I didn’t do anything,” I replied, calmly pouring a glass of cold water over myself. “Since I quit my job, the bank froze all our accounts. I have no income anymore. Didn’t you say you were the man of the house and in charge of the money?”
Evelyn entered the room right behind him, carrying a completely empty grocery bag.
“You humiliated me in front of the whole neighborhood at the market!” she shouted.
“No, Mom,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. “It was the fact that you were relying on a card that didn’t win that humiliated you.”
Patrick slammed his fist against the wooden dining table so hard that his glasses rattled.
"Don't try to play these sick games with me, Samantha."
“I’m not playing around. From this day forward, this household will be fully supported by his own salary.”
The silence that followed was absolutely beautiful to me.
Patrick earned enough to brag about, but certainly not enough to maintain the high-maintenance lifestyle he had been subsidizing for years.
The following days were a brutal but necessary lesson for both of them.
The bills for electricity, water, high-speed internet and monthly maintenance fees arrived in the mail.
I took each one of them and stuck them directly onto the front of the refrigerator.
Evelyn, who always insisted on keeping the air conditioning on in the coldest environment, was horrified when the electric company finally cut off the service.
By midday, the house had become a sweltering oven.
Then, the city cut off the water supply to the property.
The kitchen started to smell, the bathroom became completely unbearable, and the food in the refrigerator began to rot.
