My lunch break came around two o'clock.
I took my purse outside and sat in my car behind the diner.
The parking lot was quiet.
A delivery truck passed on the road.
Somebody inside dropped a metal tray, and I heard the noise through the open kitchen door.
I looked at my phone.
Three bank accounts.
Three separate conversations.
One decision.
My lawyer had already explained that the cards were issued in my name.
The authorized users were not owners of the accounts.
The divorce agreement hadn't transferred those accounts to Faron.
They were still my responsibility.
And I was allowed to decide who could use them.
I had known that.
I just hadn't acted on it.
Until now.
I called the first bank.
The representative asked me to verify my information.
I answered the security questions.
Then I explained that I wanted the account closed.
She asked whether I was sure.
I looked through the windshield at the diner.
"Yes."
She processed the request.
One card was finished.
I called the second bank.
The conversation was almost identical.
Another account.
Another confirmation.
Another card no longer available to Faron or Earline.
The third account was different.
That was the card I used for my own groceries and household purchases.
I didn't want to close it.
I simply asked the representative to remove both authorized users.
She explained the change.
I confirmed it.
Twenty minutes.
That was all it took.
Eleven years of spending ended during one lunch break.
I sat in the driver's seat afterward.
My phone rested in my lap.
I didn't feel triumphant.
I didn't feel powerful.
I felt frightened.
Because I knew they would notice.
They would call.
They would accuse me of being cruel.
They would probably tell other people that I had suddenly become unreasonable.
But I had done nothing unreasonable.
I had stopped paying for things that weren't mine.
That evening, I stood at my kitchen counter with a pair of scissors.
I took out the spare cards I had kept at home.
One belonged to the account Faron had used.
Another had been issued for Earline.
The third was my own replacement card.
I cut the first one.
Then the second.
The plastic made a sharp cracking sound.
I dropped the pieces into the trash.
When I finished, I stood there holding the scissors.
My hands were shaking.
I put them down.
Then I sat at the kitchen table.
The house was quiet.
Faron's old fishing jacket was still hanging near the back door.
I hadn't moved it yet.
There were two coffee mugs in the cabinet that we used to share.
I looked at them and wondered how something that had once felt like a marriage could end with so much resentment.
Maybe I had been foolish.
Maybe I should have stopped him years earlier.
Maybe I had made it too easy for both of them.
But there was another thought I couldn't ignore.
They had known I was paying.
They had seen the statements.
They knew whose paycheck covered the charges.
And neither of them had offered to take responsibility.
I had made mistakes.
That didn't mean I deserved to be used.
Wednesday morning, my phone buzzed while I was getting ready for work.
It was Faron.
His message was short.
The gas station wouldn't accept his card.
He said the pump had rejected it and suggested the machine was broken.
I read the message twice.
Then I put the phone down.
He had apparently tried one of the cards I had closed.
I didn't reply.
A few minutes later, I received another message.
He wanted to know whether I had done something to the account.
I left that one unanswered too.
I wasn't going to argue through text messages.
I wasn't going to explain the same thing ten different ways.
The accounts belonged to me.
The decision was mine.
At work, Peg noticed I was quieter than usual.
She didn't ask questions.
She simply placed a fresh cup of coffee near my station.
I thanked her.
The rest of the morning passed normally.
Orders came in.
Eggs were cooked.
Bacon hit the grill.
Customers complained about the weather.
For a few hours, I almost forgot about Faron.
Almost.
Thursday afternoon, Earline called the diner.
I was working in the kitchen when Peg answered.
I couldn't hear every word.
But I recognized the name.
Peg looked toward me.
Then she listened for another moment.
"She's working right now."
A pause.
"No, she's not available."
Another pause.
Peg's expression changed.
"Then you'll have to call her yourself."
She hung up.
I kept working.
"That was Earline," Peg said.
"I figured."
"She wanted to know when you'd be free."
I wiped my hands on a towel.
"What did you tell her?"
"That you were busy."
I nodded.
Peg returned to the counter.
I didn't ask what Earline had said.
I already knew enough.
They were beginning to understand that the old arrangement was over.
And they didn't like it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: He Walked Into the County Sports Show Expecting Everyone to Admire Him, While I Was Standing Beside My Mother’s Pierogi Pan
I Thought Being a Good Wife Meant Never Making My Husband Feel the Weight of His Own Mistakes
Part 3 of 20
