Saturday morning, I woke up, got dressed, and drove to the local farmers market. I bought fresh vegetables, a nice cut of salmon, and some artisan bread.
When I returned, the living room was a disaster zone of boxes they had dragged in from the driveway.
Sarah was sitting on the couch, rubbing her temples.
“The cleaning lady didn’t show up yesterday,” she stated as I walked past.
“I know,” I answered. “I canled the service.”
“So, who is supposed to clean this place?”
“The people who make the mess,” I suggested.
An hour later, Sarah decided to take matters into her own hands. She grabbed her purse and announced to Nathan that she was going to the grocery store and hiring a new cleaner.
I watched through the window as she drove away.
30 minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from Nathan.
“Mom, did you do something to the joint credit card? Sarah is at the checkout, and it keeps declining.”
I smiled softly and typed my reply.
“I closed it. As a landlord, I don’t share finances with my tenants.”
When Sarah returned home, she was empty-handed and furious. She marched into the kitchen, where I was slicing a tomato.
“You cancelled my card,” she shouted. “I was humiliated in front of a massive line of people.”
“I canled my card,” I corrected her without looking up. “Your name was merely an authorized user. You have your own income. Use it.”
“We are saving for a house,” she snapped.
“Then you should budget better.”
She stared at me, her chest heaving. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes.
The safety net she had taken for granted was completely gone.
She turned on her heel and stomped upstairs.
By Monday, the situation in the kitchen reached a breaking point. I had cooked my salmon over the weekend and stored the leftovers in a glass container.