Chapter 1 - THE MONTH I DIDN’T PAY
Dorothia Voss slapped me twice before anyone in the penthouse understood what we were arguing about.
The first strike snapped my head sideways.
The second caught my cheek before I had fully turned back.
Thirty seconds earlier, my mother-in-law had been standing beside a crystal bowl full of roses, asking why her monthly deposit hadn't arrived.
I had answered honestly.
“My company had a rough month. You'll get it later.”
Dorothia’s expression had hardened.
For twenty-six months, I had transferred her $1,500 on the first business day of every month.
Thirty-nine thousand dollars altogether.
It had started after my husband, Thaddius, told me his widowed mother was struggling with “some temporary expenses” after his father’s estate was settled.
I earned good money from my corporate-events firm. Dorothia was family. Fifteen hundred dollars hadn't seemed worth fighting over.
Until the first month it stopped.
“You actually think your money makes you important?” she said.
Then she slapped me.
Twice.
Something in me broke cleanly instead of loudly.
I hit her back.
One hard open-handed slap.
Dorothia stumbled into the glass coffee table. A crystal bowl overturned. Roses and bundled cash scattered across the rug.
She stared up at me as if I had violated a law of nature.
“You should've remembered who you were speaking to.”
She lunged and grabbed my wrist.
I ripped free and shoved her away.
“Go on,” she hissed. “Push me again. Lose everything.”
The penthouse door clicked open.
Thaddius stepped inside carrying his briefcase.
He froze.
His mother was half-seated against the sofa.
I was standing over shattered crystal with my blouse pulled crooked and my cheek burning.
Cash covered the floor.
“Serena?”
Dorothia immediately pointed at me.
“She attacked me.”
I almost laughed.
Then Thaddius noticed the paper beneath the broken crystal bowl.
A bank statement.
My name appeared on every second line.
SERENA VOSS — $1,500.00.
Month after month.
Thaddius picked it up.
His face changed.
“Mom... why is Serena’s transfer history under your coffee table?”
Dorothia stopped breathing for a second.
I saw it.
So did he.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Dorothia said.
Thaddius turned the page over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Dates.
Amounts.
And beside every transfer I had made, another number was written in blue ink.
A decreasing balance.
$91,500.
$90,000.
$88,500.
$87,000.
My husband stared at those figures.
I stared at him.
“Thaddius?”
He didn't answer.
May you like
That was the moment the fight stopped being about a missing allowance.
Because whatever Dorothia had been counting down for more than two years, my husband already knew what it was.
