32 unread text messages and four missed calls.
The first few texts, sent around 6:30 a.m., were annoyed.
Sarah: “Mom, where is the baby’s blue jacket? We’re running late.”
Sarah: “The coffee maker isn’t working. Did you unplug it?”
By 7:15 a.m., the tone shifted.
Sarah: “Greg had to leave without breakfast. Brenda is complaining that there are no fresh towels in her bathroom. Stop ignoring me.”
I didn’t reply.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, enjoying the absolute stillness of my room.
Around 9:0 a.m., my phone buzzed again.
It was Greg.
Greg: “Hey, Heather. Sarah is really stressed. Can you just come back and help with the morning routine? Brenda doesn’t know how to use the washing machine.”
I typed my first response of the day.
“Good morning, Greg. As Sarah pointed out last night, it is not my job. I suggest you read the manual on the washing machine. Best of luck.”
I tossed the phone onto the bed and started getting dressed.
I had errands to run today, and none of them involved buying organic baby food or picking up Brenda’s dry cleaning.
I had my own life to organize, starting with my finances.
The free ride was officially over, and the meter was about to run out on their perfect little arrangement.
After a quiet breakfast at a local diner, I opened my laptop.
Over the past two years, the lines between my money and their expenses had blurred tremendously.
Because I did the grocery shopping, my credit card was linked to the family’s grocery delivery app.
Because I handled the bills, my checking account was set to autopay their internet, electricity, and the streaming services Brenda watched all day.
It was easier that way.
Sarah had claimed, “We’ll pay you back.”
She used to say, though; the reimbursement stopped about a year ago.
I logged into my banking portal.
With a few simple clicks, I severed every digital tie.
I cancelled my card on the grocery.
I logged into the utility portals and removed my autopay information, reverting the billing back to Greg’s email address.