“I understand,” he said. “But Mrs. Patterson, whatever you do, document everything. Every text, every email, every request for money. If this escalates, you’ll want that paper trail.”
After I hung up, I pulled out my phone and started screenshotting—every text from Jennifer asking for money, every “emergency,” every guilt trip. Then I went to social media. Jennifer’s Facebook was set to public. I scrolled through eighteen months of posts. There was the Bermuda trip posted the same week she’d asked for dental money. Restaurant check-ins at expensive places. Shopping bags from designer stores. Derek posing next to a new motorcycle. A motorcycle. While I was paying their mortgage.
I took screenshots of everything.
Thursday morning, Margaret called. “Your documents are ready. Can you come in to sign?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
As I drove to her office, my phone buzzed. A text from Jennifer. “Derek made dinner reservations for tonight. 7:00 p.m. at Marcello’s. Please come. We need to fix this.”
Marcello’s—the expensive Italian place where they expected me to pay, no doubt.
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