CHAPTER 2: The Taste of Consequences
The next morning, I walked downstairs with a thick black bandana wrapped tightly around my head to hide the bald spots.
I used makeup to paint dark circles under my eyes so that I looked completely ruined and exhausted.
Evelyn was sitting in the kitchen eating pumpkin seeds, sitting like a royal queen in a house she did not own and certainly did not pay for.
“Have you already submitted your formal resignation to that company?” she asked, not even bothering to look up.
“Yes, I did it first thing,” I lied, my voice shaking with a fake tone of defeat. “I am not going back to the office anymore.”
Her eyes shone with pure, predatory greed.
“Then take my card and go to the local market immediately.
I want the best beef shank, fresh bones for the broth, seasonal fruit, and a jar of premium agave honey.
Patrick needs to eat like a king.”
“Of course, I will go, Mom. Use the additional credit card I gave you, you know the PIN by heart.”
She left the house happy, swinging a designer handbag I had also purchased for her during my last business trip.
Half an hour later, my phone, which I had kept hidden, started buzzing with constant, rapid-fire notifications: transaction declined, transaction declined, transaction declined.
I closed my eyes and pictured Evelyn standing in front of the butcher, her face turning bright red with embarrassment while the entire neighborhood watched her struggle to pay for a simple 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 getting declined?”, “I am currently at a restaurant with my boss and I have no cash!”, “Transfer money to me right now, you are making me look like a fool!”
At seven o’clock that evening, he stormed through the front door, his face purple with rage.
His expensive shirt was wrinkled, his face was sweaty, and his pride was clearly shattered.
“What exactly did you do with my credit cards?” he roared, pacing back and forth.
“I did not do anything,” I replied, calmly pouring myself a glass of cold water. “Since I quit my job, the bank froze all of our accounts. I have absolutely no income anymore. Did you not say that 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 entire neighborhood at the market!” she screamed.
“No, Mom,” I said, looking her directly in the eye. “It was the fact that you relied on a card that you did not earn that humiliated you.”
Patrick slammed his fist onto the wooden dining table so hard that the glasses rattled.
“Do not try to play these sick games with me, Samantha.”
“I am not playing games. From this day forward, this household will be fully supported by your own salary.”
The silence that followed was absolutely beautiful to me.
Patrick earned enough to show off, but he certainly did not earn enough to sustain the high-maintenance life that I had been subsidizing for years.
The following days were a brutal, necessary lesson for both of them.
Bills for the electricity, the water, the high-speed internet, and the monthly maintenance fees arrived in the mail.
I took every single one of them and stuck them directly onto the front of the refrigerator.
Evelyn, who always insisted on keeping the air conditioning turned on at the coldest setting, was horrified when the power company finally cut the service.
By midday, the house had turned into a sweltering oven.
Then, the city cut off the water supply to the property.
The kitchen began to smell, the bathroom became completely unbearable, and the food in the refrigerator started to rot.
I spent my time working from my quiet studio, using a small, rechargeable fan, drinking cold brew coffee, and focusing on my laptop screen.
The company had refused my resignation because I never actually submitted it to human resources.
They gave me a week of remote work and promised to fully protect my executive position.
On the fourth day, Patrick was forced to borrow money from a loan shark just to reconnect the basic services.
That same night, I decided to hit him with another truth.
I had discovered dozens of messages on his old, secondary cell phone regarding hidden bets, high-interest loans, and money transfers to a woman named Chloe.
“You owe more than a million pesos to these people,” I told him, throwing copies of his financial records onto the kitchen table.
“Gambling, bad loans, hotel stays, and you even stole the gold wedding coins that my parents gave me as a gift.”
Evelyn paled, and her mouth hung open in shock.
“Patrick, tell me that this is just a lie.”
“It is all her fault!” he shouted, pointing a shaky finger at me. “She is always working! A real man needs constant attention and I was neglected!”
I laughed at him, a dry, bitter, and cold sound.
“Did you also need your mother to hold me down and shave my head while I slept?”
That night, I installed small, hidden cameras in the living room and the main hallway.
I already knew that when a parasite loses its food source, it eventually tries to bite.
They did not take long to show their true colors.
Evelyn tried to hand me a cup of tea, claiming it would “help me sleep better” after all the stress.
I poured it down the sink and pretended to fall into a deep, drug-induced sleep.
At midnight, she and Patrick crept into my room with a heavy flashlight and a set of tools.
They were desperate to break into my private safe to steal the house deeds.
After twenty minutes of struggling, they finally managed to pry the heavy door open.
Inside, there were no property deeds to be found.
Instead, there was just a single printed sheet of paper that read: “The house is registered solely in my name and the documents are stored in a secure vault. Good night, thieves.”
The next morning, neither of them dared to look me in the eye
But Patrick still had one final, dirtiest card left to play.
Two days later, he walked into the house with a girl named Chloe, who wore far too much makeup, dressed in revealing clothes, and had a belly that looked far too round and perfect.
“I would like you to meet the woman I truly love,” Patrick announced with a flourish.
“She is pregnant with my child. This is the first grandson of this family. So, you are going to sign these divorce papers and leave the house to us.”
Evelyn began to cry tears of joy and immediately rushed over to stroke Chloe’s belly.
“Finally, an heir for our legacy.”
Chloe looked at me with a mocking, cruel expression.
“Love is not to blame for the fact that a wife does not know how to keep her husband interested in her.”
I did not bother answering her.
I just watched her hard, high, and strange-looking belly.
I looked at her ten-centimeter designer heels, her overwhelming perfume, and the way she moved around the room without any of the natural caution of a pregnant woman.
I allowed a small, knowing smile to touch my lips.
“Fine. You two can stay for a few days while I sort everything out with my lawyer.”
They genuinely believed that they had won the war.
They had no idea that they had just walked onto the stage where I had carefully planned to expose every single one of their pathetic lies.
