Not including Christmas gifts for her children that I purchased because Jason promised to handle them and then forgot on December 23rd.
I downloaded the Venmo records. Dates. Notes. Amounts. Some had emojis. A laughing face beside “rent short again.” A prayer hands emoji beside “promise I’ll pay back.” She almost never did.
At 2:13 a.m., I sat back in the kitchen chair and looked at the spreadsheet.
There was a strange calm inside me.
I had expected anger. I had expected grief. Instead, what I felt was clarity so clean it almost felt cold.
Jason had asked for separate accounts.
I would give him separate accounts.
Not revenge. Not theatrics. Not screaming. Just exactly what he claimed he wanted, stripped of the fantasy that my labor and my paycheck would continue cushioning his ego.
The next morning, I woke before six after less than three hours of sleep.
I made coffee. Packed Ellie’s lunch. Fed the dog. Signed a permission slip Jason had left under a pile of mail. Put scrubs in the wash. Wiped down the kitchen counters. Set Ellie’s little sneakers by the door.
Jason came downstairs at seven-thirty, yawning, wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt from a sales conference in Nashville.