The morning after I met Faron, I woke up before my alarm.
For a few seconds, I lay still.
The house was quiet.
No television.
No footsteps.
No one asking whether I had paid a bill.
I got out of bed and made coffee.
Then I opened the kitchen drawer and took out the folder.
I looked at the bank letters again.
The accounts were closed.
The authorized users had been removed.
There was nothing left for Faron to use.
I put the papers away.
Then I made a list of my own expenses.
Mortgage.
Electricity.
Groceries.
Car insurance.
Gas.
I wanted to know exactly what I needed each month.
Not what Faron needed.
Not what Earline expected.
Just me.
The numbers weren't perfect.
But they were manageable.
I had spent years believing I couldn't afford to stop helping them.
When I finally looked at my finances without their spending, I realized something.
I had been making my own life harder than it needed to be.
At work, Peg noticed I was carrying a small notebook.
"What's that?"
"My budget."
She smiled.
"That's a good thing."
I shrugged.
"I'm trying to get organized."
She poured coffee into a mug.
"About time you spent some of that money on yourself."
I laughed.
It felt strange hearing somebody say that.
During my break, I went through the grocery list.
I crossed out things I didn't need.
Then I added a few things I had been putting off buying.
A new pair of work shoes.
A better winter coat.
Nothing extravagant.
Just things I needed.
That afternoon, I stopped at a shoe store.
I tried on three pairs.
The first was too narrow.
The second hurt my heel.
The third fit properly.
I bought them.
The cashier asked whether I wanted to put the purchase on a credit card.
I paid with my debit card.
It felt good.
Not because I had avoided credit.
Because the purchase belonged to me.
That evening, I made pierogi.
I followed my mother's recipe.
I worked the dough slowly.
I prepared the filling.
I shaped each one by hand.
Some were too large.
Some were uneven.
I didn't mind.
I put a few in a pan with butter and onions.
Then I ate at the kitchen table.
My phone buzzed.
Faron.
He asked whether I had thought about what he said.
I looked at the message.
I had thought about it.
I had thought about it for eleven years.
I didn't reply.
A little later, another message arrived.
He said he hoped we could eventually be civil.
I read it.
Then I put the phone away.
I wanted peace too.
But peace didn't mean reopening accounts.
It didn't mean paying for Earline's appointments.
And it certainly didn't mean pretending the threats had never happened.
The next morning, I went to work wearing my new shoes.
They were comfortable.
Peg noticed.
"Those look nice."
"They are."
"Good. You deserve comfortable feet after all these years."
I smiled.
Then I turned back toward the grill.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn't thinking about what somebody else might need from me.
I was thinking about what I needed.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: The Last Time Faron Tried to Use My Good Name Against Me, Peg Made Sure the Truth Was Already Written Down
I Thought Being a Good Wife Meant Never Making My Husband Feel the Weight of His Own Mistakes
Part 17 of 20
