My husband had just ducked into the bathroom when his phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and saw it was his brother calling.
A frown creased my brow, but I answered anyway.
"George, why haven't you sent the $10,000 to Mom and Dad this month?" Ross Serrano said. "Mom just asked me about it."
I hung up without a word, but a rush of fury surged through me. My husband stood at the bathroom door, his hands still dripping wet.
I forced a bitter smile. "You make $8,000 a month, right? $3,000 goes to the mortgage, $2,000 to me, and you pocket $1,000 for yourself. You told me you sent $2,000 to your parents, so how did that magically turn into $10,000?"
His lips quivered, his face draining of color. My heart sank, and my hands trembled uncontrollably.
We'd been married for five years, and I'd never once laid eyes on his bank card.
What other secrets was he keeping from me?
After that phone call, I stood rooted to the spot, reeling from the revelation for a full ten minutes. The words "$10,000" echoed relentlessly in my mind.
On Thanksgiving, I had suggested giving my parents $1,000, but George Serrano shot it down, saying we were tight on cash and to hold off.
I believed him, even feeling guilty for bringing it up. My parents comforted me, saying everything they had would be mine one day and telling me not to dwell on it.
I could never have imagined that his idea of being tight on cash meant funneling 10,000 dollars to his parents every month.
"Honey, let me explain..." George stepped forward, reaching for my hand.
I yanked it away, my gaze as cold as ice. "Explain what? That the $10,000 isn't real?"
Memories came flooding back, crashing over me like waves. I'd waffled over a discounted coat for half a month before deciding not to buy it.
Every day at the market, I'd haggle as if my life depended on it over a few bucks, calculating if spending an extra $10 on meat would blow our budget for the month.
And him? What had he been doing all this time?
Tears stung my eyes, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise, the pain so intense it nearly took my breath away. I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms.
His face blanched further, and he avoided my gaze. "Ross just got married, and his wife is pregnant—their expenses are piling up. My parents mentioned his low salary, and as the older brother, I couldn't just sit back. They're right. Siblings should have each other's backs."
I leaned against the wall to keep myself from collapsing, the ridiculousness of it all hitting me like a slap in the face. I'd poured everything I had into building our home, while he was dumping money into his brother's never-ending pit.
"How is that $10,000 divided?" I demanded, my stare unyielding.
His lips quivered before he finally confessed, "$8,000 goes to Ross: $5,000 to help with his mortgage, and $3,000 for their living expenses."
All the frustration I had been holding back for five years burst forth, propelling me to slap him across the face. "Is he disabled or something? Why are you funding his wife and child? And what about me? You hand him $8,000 a month and toss me just $2,000? What am I to you?"
Thinking back to my parents' understanding smiles on Thanksgiving, I felt like the biggest fool on earth. Tears streamed down my face, my voice shaking. "What's your real salary?"
"$15,000..." he stammered.
I snatched his phone and scrolled through the bank notifications. After taxes, it was 20,000 dollars.
A cold, mirthless laugh escaped me as I hurled the phone back at his face. "You make $20,000 a month and give me only $2,000? What do I even mean to you?"
I clenched my teeth, fighting to hold myself together.
George's phone rang again, and Ross's voice came through. "George, come over to my place right away."
George glanced at me with mixed feelings. "Ross needs me right now. We'll talk about this when I get back."
He hurried off, leaving me behind. Every bit of strength drained from my body, but one thought became crystal clear. This marriage had to end. I was divorcing him.
...
George didn't come back until midnight, reeking of smoke and alcohol. As usual, he sidled up, trying to wrap his arms around my waist.
The instant his skin touched mine, I recoiled like I'd been burned, every fiber of my being screaming in revulsion. "Don't touch me! You're disgusting!"
He gave a placating smile. "I figured you were upset and probably skipped dinner. I got you some barbecue. Want to head out and grab a bite?"
That was his classic deflection. Whenever we neared the heart of our problems, he'd pivot with this shallow show of care.
My voice turned icy. "I'm not as carefree as you; I can't stomach food right now. When we got married, your parents claimed they had no pension and asked for $2,000 a month from us. That money never reached them, did it? It was always for Ross, right from the start."
His smile stiffened, his eyes darting away. I pressed on. "When did you start helping with his mortgage?"
"The year he got married and bought his house." He faltered, his voice fading to a whisper.
Though I'd suspected as much, hearing it aloud sent a rush of blood to my head. I punched him hard in the chest. "What about me? In your grand plan, what am I? Just a dupe helping you bankroll your brother?"
I remembered how effortlessly his parents had shelled out 500,000 dollars for Ross's down payment at his wedding.
It had made me uncomfortable back then, and George had held me close, whispering, "Ross dropped out to fund my education. That's a debt I can never repay. Just let him have it. We'll make our own way."
I had believed him, draining the 300,000 dollars given by my parents and the 150,000 dollars I had saved from my job. Coupled with his measly 50,000 dollars, we scraped together a down payment for our house.
And now, he wasn't just conceding. He was endlessly subsidizing Ross.
He seized my hand, desperation in his voice. "Honey, I love you, of course. I wouldn't have married you otherwise. But I owe Ross; his grades were stellar, yet he sacrificed for me. I can never pay that back in a lifetime."
Numbness spread through me. It was the guilt card again, this massive stone weighing me down for years. But why should I be the one to pay for it?
I yanked my hand away, the last bit of warmth in my heart flickering out. "You've been repaying that debt for years now, and it's cost me five years of my life. It's more than enough. George Serrano, let's get a divorce."
He froze, clearly unprepared for those words. Having said my piece, I hauled out the suitcase I'd already packed and headed for the door.
In the parking lot, I walked to my BMW, only to find it gone. That car cost 80,000 dollars, bought by my parents. It had been there that morning.
An icy dread gripped me, and I rushed to the property management to check the surveillance footage.
The video was crystal clear: that afternoon, George had driven my car away. A few hours later, he came back by taxi, but the car never reappeared.
I stood before the empty parking spot, my blood running cold. With shaking hands, I dialed his number. "George, where is my car?"
After what felt like an eternity, he showed up, rubbing his hands nervously. "I scratched it by accident and sent it to the dealership for repairs."
I watched his lousy performance, then showed him the vehicle's location interface on my phone. "Which part of your story can I still believe? You took my car and gave it to Ross without even discussing it with me?"
His face twisted with feigned grievance. "What's the fuss? Ross is family, and he needs a car for work, so I lent it to him. Besides, if we hadn't shifted the $20,000 Mom and Dad saved for his car to our wedding expenses, he'd have had one long ago. We owe him."
His tone dripped with dissatisfaction, and I could hardly believe my ears. Even at this point, he framed the wedding funds as me shortchanging Ross.
Rage surged through me like electricity. "Whose family is he? Not mine. I'll say this one once more: I want a divorce. And if my car isn't back tonight, I'll go to the police first thing tomorrow and report you for illegal possession."
Ignoring his contorted expression, I hailed a taxi and headed straight to my parents' place. Once there, I poured out all the grievances I'd been carrying in my heart for these years, along with everything that happened today.
My mom listened, her eyes filling with tears. She drew me into a tight hug. "You silly child, why did you shoulder this alone for so long?"
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
Opening it revealed George and his mother, Hilda Serrano, her face plastered with a forced smile. "Miriam, why run home over a little spat? We can talk it out. I brought George to apologize."
George reached for my hand. "Honey, I was wrong. Come home with me."
My gaze was frigid. "I said I wanted a divorce. And return my car immediately."
His expression soured, impatience flashing. "All you care about is that stupid car. I never saw how cold and selfish you were before. It's freezing outside, and Ross is having trouble getting to work. What is wrong with letting him use it for a while? Isn't that what family does?"
Hilda chimed in, "That's right, Miriam. You two are doing well; Ross can't keep up. That car sits idle most days anyway, so why not transfer it to him? He's thinking about buying one, and your car fits perfectly. Saves him the trouble of picking."
I froze, stunned by the sheer audacity of their words.
George nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Ross said your car is second-hand, but it drives fine. Just gift it to him."
My dad, who'd been holding back his anger, couldn't take it anymore. He rushed forward and landed a solid punch on George's face.
