I opened the list of automatic payments I had been managing for them.
Their streaming subscriptions went first.
Then the delivery membership they used for food.
Then the recurring transfers for Brittany and Kayla’s personal expenses.
I did not touch Teresa’s prescription payment.
I changed it so the pharmacy would be paid directly for the next month, rather than sending money to her account.
Supporting a medical need was one thing.
Financing entitlement was another.
Teresa watched me make each change.
“You’ll regret this when she leaves you.”
I put the phone away.
“You were going to manufacture that.”
“She would have left eventually.”
Emily’s face changed.
The fear disappeared.
In its place was something quiet and firm.
“No,” she said.
“I was waiting for my husband to see what was happening.
Now he has.”
I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Give me your keys.”
Nobody moved.
Teresa laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“You’re throwing your mother into the street over dishes?”
“You have your own apartment.
I pay most of its rent.
You are not being thrown into the street.
You are being removed from mine.”
Brittany crossed her arms.
“We’re not leaving until you calm down.”
“I am calm.”
That seemed to frighten them more than shouting would have.
I held out my hand.
“One key at a time.”
Lily surrendered hers first.
Kayla dropped hers into my palm and called me heartless.
Brittany argued until I reminded her that the notebook photographs and her admission were saved in two places.
Teresa was last.
She held the key so tightly that its edge marked her skin.
“You choose her tonight,” she said, “and you lose us.”
I looked at Emily, standing barefoot in the kitchen with our child beneath her heart.
“This was never supposed to be a choice.”
Teresa placed the key in my hand.
Then she and my sisters left behind the pizza boxes, the cups, the napkins, and every piece of evidence showing exactly how they had treated our home.
I locked the door.
For several seconds, I stood with my forehead against it.
The apartment was finally quiet.
When I turned around, Emily was still beside the table.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She began to answer, but I shook my head.
“Not because they were cruel.
That belongs to them.
I’m sorry because you tried to show me, and I kept explaining it away.
I thought paying for everyone made me a good man.
I did not notice that my money was protecting the people hurting you.”
Emily sat down carefully.
