I logged into my bank account.
The recurring weekly transfer of $550 was scheduled for the next morning.
I clicked on it, hovered my mouse over the cancel series button, and pressed down.
Just like that, the financial IV drip was disconnected.
But I didn’t stop there.
I opened another tab and logged into my cellular provider.
Two years ago, David complained about their phone bills, so I had added his and Sarah’s lines to my unlimited plan.
I selected both of their numbers and clicked suspend service.
Next, I went to my streaming accounts, Netflix, Hulu, HBO.
I changed every single password and clicked sign out of all devices.
I closed the laptop, made myself a cup of chamomile tea, and sat on the couch.
Exa exactly 40 minutes later, my son went crazy.
My home phone, which I rarely used, started ringing off the hook.
I watched the caller ID flashed David’s name over and over.
When I didn’t answer, the answering machine clicked on.
“Mom, pickup,” David yelled through the small speaker. “My phone just lost service and Sarah got an alert from the bank that the Friday transfer failed. What are you doing? Fix this right now.”
He sounded terrified, but mostly he sounded furious.
There was no apology for the birthday dinner.
There was no concern for my feelings.
He was only panicking because the well had suddenly dried up.
I picked up the remote, muted the volume on the answering machine, and took a slow sip of my tea.
Tomorrow, they would undoubtedly show up at my door.
I knew Sarah wouldn’t let this go.
But for the first time in years, I wasn’t anxious about facing her.
I went to bed early and slept incredibly well.
The doorbell rang at 8:15 the next morning.