The next morning I called my accountant. “Starting today,” I said, “remove every voluntary payment connected to Daniel’s family. Every single one.”
There was a pause on the line. Then: “Understood.”
For two days, my phone stayed silent. I told myself that meant they hadn’t noticed — or worse, that they had noticed and simply didn’t care. I almost believed the second one. Then Theresa called.
“The mortgage payment didn’t go through,” she said, no greeting, no warmth. “Transfer the thirty-two hundred dollars right now.”
“I’m not your bank,” I said. “I was kind, Theresa. There’s a difference.”