Chapter 4: The Fallout

My brow twitched. Fifty grand—Jenny said it like it was a twenty.

I clenched my teeth. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?”

Jenny shot up from the couch like a startled cat.

“It’s just fifty grand! Isn’t my brother your brother too? My nephew’s about to start middle school—without a house in the right district, how can he study in peace? If he doesn’t get into a good high school, how will he get into college? He’s the only boy in the family. Don’t be so selfish, okay?”

Her voice hit that familiar whine, the one she used whenever she wanted to justify another splurge. She looked at me like I’d committed a crime for wanting to talk about money. In her world, family meant her family.

My head buzzed.

This wasn’t the first time. Every time, it was the same excuse: her brother’s the only son, she’s just a daughter, so she uses our money to make up for it. Her nephew is the family’s golden boy, and since she can’t count on Zoe, he’s her insurance for old age.

I’d heard it all before, and every time I let it slide.

But what made me angrier were the thoughts buzzing in my head:

He’s supposed to be a big boss, but other CEOs give their wives millions and he’s whining over fifty grand? No wonder he died early.

His job is to support the heroine and her mom, but he really thinks he’s something, daring to give our heroine’s mom a hard time.

They made it sound so easy. For me, every dollar was hard-earned. I worked late, swallowed pride for business deals, all for Jenny and my daughter. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a decent suit.

But with one wave of Jenny’s hand, I lost more than a suit’s worth.

Yet my efforts were always taken for granted.

My tone turned cold. “The credit card I gave you is for you, our daughter, and the house—not for you to bankroll your family.”

Jenny immediately looked like she was about to cry. “You said you’d love me forever, what’s yours is mine. We haven’t even been together that long and now you treat me like this?”

She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, but I’d seen this act before—the same performance she put on for my parents from Kentucky, all wounded innocence, as if I was the villain for wanting a little responsibility from her side of the family.

My blood pressure spiked. Maybe I’d been brainwashed by the story, but now, everything felt wrong.

Before I could say anything, Zoe came home, her mood bright until she saw me. Seeing Jenny’s red eyes, Zoe immediately jumped in:

“Did you bully my mom again? Dad, don’t go too far! If it weren’t for my mom, you’d still be a lonely old bachelor.”

She glared at me with that blend of teenage righteousness and TikTok wisdom.

I actually laughed from anger.

With Zoe standing up for her, Jenny got smug, pulled her over for a hug, and threw a jab at me: “Only my daughter is good to me in this house. No one else is reliable. She really is my own.”

Mother and daughter teamed up to isolate me, leaving me with nothing but emptiness.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, feeling like an afterthought in my own home, wishing I could just slam the fridge door and vanish.