My husband was obsessed with a social media influencer, blowing even the money set aside for Milana's funeral. Her cancer had worsened, leaving her hospitalized.

When I went to pay the medical bills, I found our bank account empty—Gianni had spent it all on that internet personality. Milana was left without a hospital bed, forced to sit on a chair in the hallway, silently wiping away tears as she trembled in pain.

I called Gianni in desperation, needing money, only to be met with a barrage of insults.

"Why should I care if your mom is sick? Ryleigh's family is going through a rough time. How could I not help her out?"

"What kind of son wishes his own mother dead to get money? It's disgraceful."

Listening to him, Milana closed her eyes in resignation. She missed her chance for urgent treatment. I spent the night mourning a woman who had always been kind to me. Eventually, I returned home and handed over the last bit of money I had to Gianni.

"Use this to help Ryleigh," I said.

---

"Alaiya, you had money all along and didn't offer it sooner?" Gianni slurred, confronting me with drunken anger as he saw the bank card I handed him. "I'm short today, and Ryleigh lost her challenge. Now she's upset with me."

I dodged the swing he aimed at me, staring at him with nothing but contempt.

"Gianni, Milana's gone. You can see her one last time in the morning," I said, my voice flat, filled only with a cold disgust.

"Your mom's death means nothing to me. I asked her for the settlement money for the old house, and she refused. Better off dead. The money's from the settlement, right? Should have given it to me sooner," he sneered, slurring his words.

I was done arguing. Despite my attempts to reach out these past few days, telling him that his own mother was sick, it was clear he couldn't care less. The money on that card wasn't from the settlement at all; it was a loan I took against the house to pay for Milana's cremation. Still, it didn’t matter how he spent it; he'd already drained every penny I'd saved over the years.

I consulted a lawyer, who assured me that as long as I kept evidence, his debts wouldn't fall on me. Additionally, if I could prove Ryleigh had manipulated him, I might reclaim what's rightfully mine.

Gianni, muttering more insults as I stood silent, finally took the bank card with glee and dialed a number on his phone. Seconds later, a sweet but impatient voice answered.

"Gianni, I told you, losing the challenge today has me down. I don't know when my family can recover. I'm not in the mood, so quit bothering me," Ryleigh's voice came through.

He responded with the eagerness of someone infatuated. "Ryleigh, didn't I say the company was in a bind? But that's over now. I've got funds. Where are you? Let's meet. I'll give you the money."

Gianni's eyes glinted with excitement as he gulped back his enthusiasm. The voice on the other end shifted to coy joy, barely contained.

"Gianni, you know my situation. No matter how much money you have, I can't pay right now."

"Why talk about paying me back? My money’s not contingent on that. Just take it. Where are you?" he said, glancing at me briefly before heading outside, his voice slick with assurance.

I saw my opportunity. Grabbing my coat, I turned on the camera and followed.

Gianni headed to a nightclub. I'd heard that many influencers worked there, broadcasting during the day and working the floors at night.

As I tried to follow him in, a bouncer blocked my path.

"You can't just walk in. This is an exclusive venue. Got a membership?" he asked.

I hesitated but was determined to get evidence. "I'm here to find someone."

"Find someone? I know your type. No money, trying to land a big fish," he sneered, pointing at Gianni's disappearing figure. "That guy spent nearly a hundred grand this month. Go fish somewhere else."

I circled back, finally locating a window. Luckily, Gianni's table was nearby, close enough for the camera to capture both video and sound.

Meanwhile, a woman wearing revealing clothes and heavy makeup strolled over, exuding an aura of trouble. She was clearly not someone to be trusted. I had argued with Gianni more times than I could remember.

"That Ryleigh woman is nothing but trouble. Are you blind?" I said to Gianni, exasperated.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he shot back. "She’s had a hard life, working to pay her family's medical bills all on her own. You just judge based on appearances."

No matter how much evidence I presented about Ryleigh's true background, Gianni refused to listen.

"Ryleigh doesn’t have a sick brother at all. In fact, there's a guy back home who sends her money every month."

But I was too tired to argue anymore. I just needed the evidence.

"I'm sorry for making you come out again, Gianni," Ryleigh murmured, cozying up to his arm as if she might kiss him.

"No worries, I just didn’t want you feeling down, so I rushed to bring you the money," Gianni replied with a grin.

"Gianni, you're the best. Mwah." Their flirtation continued, and I could see Gianni struggling to keep his hands at bay. Just then, Ryleigh pulled away slightly, indicating that he should hand over more cash.

With exaggerated flair, Gianni pulled out a roll of bills and set it on the table. "Don't worry, I’d never joke about Ryleigh's family."

Watching him, I couldn't help but scoff. He had money to waste on her, yet none for his own mother's funeral.

The lawyer had advised that for the evidence to hold up, I needed to get Gianni on record, so I pushed aside my disgust and gave him a call.

He hung up immediately.

I kept dialing until he answered, clearly irritated. "Are you out of your mind? I told you, it's a blessing your mom's gone. Don't expect me to spend a dime on her."

I kept my cool. "Gianni, I've said it before, that was your mother. She died because you wasted the money she needed for treatment. Where are you now, and where’s the money gone?"

"Your mother is none of my business. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean she’s my mom. I gave the money to Ryleigh. What are you gonna do about it, kill me?"

Gianni slammed the phone down, his words only strengthening my resolve. With this conversation, I finally had the evidence I needed.

"Gianni, who was that?" Ryleigh asked sweetly after the call ended.

"No one, just an old nag," Gianni dismissed me.

"Gianni, still, you should listen to your wife. Maybe take the money back, so she doesn't get upset," Ryleigh said, shifting in his embrace.

"If only she were as reasonable as you, Ryleigh. She can't touch the money I give you. You're the best," Gianni replied as they left the nightclub hand in hand, their intentions all too clear.

By the time I had made my way around most of the nightclub, the two of them had already disappeared. However, I managed to get another piece of evidence: a confirmation for Gianni's reservation for the presidential suite had been sent to my phone. I called the hotel, requested the check-in details be sent to me, and then headed back home.

The next morning, I went to the cemetery to bid a final farewell to Milana. After ensuring her remains were appropriately placed, I returned home with the urn. Milana had always been good to me; it was my responsibility to see that she was laid to rest with respect, even if Gianni failed in his familial obligations. As I stepped through the door, still holding the urn, Gianni barged in.

He didn't utter a word before knocking the urn out of my hands, scattering the ashes across the floor. Anger surged within me as I watched the ashes spread.

"Gianni, what the hell are you doing?"

"You fool, bringing this bad luck into the house? You think I won't lay a hand on you?"

Fortunately, I had installed cameras around the house earlier, capturing everything. I silently knelt to gather Milana's ashes. Gianni, thinking I was backing down, sprawled out on the couch.

"Clean it up and get rid of it, then make me dinner," he snapped.

Ignoring him, I took Milana's ashes and laid them to rest at the family home. Gianni had been draining my finances for years. With his bragging to Ryleigh about being the boss of the company, it was clear he must have been siphoning funds.

Since Milana had raised Gianni single-handedly, we were the only heirs to her small estate. I took care of all of Milana's affairs and lingered a bit longer over the rundown little house where she had spent her final days. The place was barely more than a one-story structure with two tiny windows. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom all shared the same cramped space, and the bed's cover was black from the soot of the fireplace she used for cooking.

The cleanest item in the room was a picture frame containing a photograph of Gianni from his childhood birthday party.

I arrived home late. Gianni's immediate reaction was to hurl a barrage of insults, followed by a violent outburst.

"Where have you been, you useless woman? When I tell you to make me dinner, is it that hard to understand?"

I looked at Gianni icily. "I was taking care of things for Mom."

Hearing this, Gianni grew even more furious. "How many times have I told you, that old bat's death has nothing to do with me! Now hurry up and cook, unless you want me to lose my temper."

I quietly handed him a bankbook.

"This is everything Mom left."

His eyes gleamed with greed as soon as he saw the bankbook.

"Well, you should have mentioned something sooner; maybe then I would've visited her one last time. I'll let it slide this time, but make sure to inform me next time."

With the bankbook in hand, Gianni eagerly grabbed his coat. "Hey, Ryleigh, remember that rooftop restaurant you wanted to try? Turns out I’m available today, how about I take you there?"

Gianni was thrilled, but my thoughts were filled with the image of Milana’s old, soot-covered cooking pot in her cramped house because she didn’t want to spend money on even a simple electric stove. I silently followed Gianni out.