Vanessa’s smile vanished instantly.
“$5,000? That won’t even cover the floral arrangements. David’s friend’s parents are paying for their entire weddings. We live here to save money. You have plenty.”
“My finances are my own,” I replied, keeping my voice perfectly level. “$5,000 is my limit.”
Two weeks later, I noticed my emergency credit card was missing from my wallet.
I logged into my banking app and saw a pending charge for $4,500 at a bridal boutique downtown.
I did not confront her.
I picked up my phone, called the fraud department, and reported the card stolen. I authorized an immediate chargeback and had the account permanently locked.
The next afternoon, Vanessa burst through the front door, her face red with rage.
“My dress deposit bounced. The boutique said the card was reported stolen.”
“It was,” I answered, sipping my iced tea. “Someone took it from my purse without asking. Thank goodness the bank caught the fraudulent charge and canled it.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but the words died in her throat.
She couldn’t admit to stealing it without incriminating herself. She just stared at me, pure hatred burning in her eyes.
The war had officially begun.
The turning point happened on a warm Thursday afternoon.
I was on the back patio, quietly tending to my hydrangeas. The sliding glass door to the living room was cracked open to let in the breeze.
Inside, Vanessa was hosting three of her bridesmaids for lunch.
I had no intention of eavesdropping, but Vanessa’s voice was loud and entirely unguarded.
“Honestly, I can’t wait until the wedding is over,” Vanessa scoffed, the clinking of wine glasses echoing through the open door. “Living with her is a nightmare. She’s so stingy and stubborn.”
“How long are you guys going to stay here?” one of her friends asked.
“Just until I get David to put my name on the deed.”