By 6 p.m., I’d already sighed five times. Between grading papers and getting another overdue utility notice, I was spent. From the living room, Steve yelled excitedly about the new Tesla. “We might not have power tomorrow,” I muttered. He barely acknowledged me. As usual, I handled the bills, groceries—everything. On my way to change, something slipped from his coat pocket: a paper receipt.
$10,234. Luxury Seaside Resort. 2 guests. 14 nights.
“Steve?” I asked, confronting him. “Oh, that. A gift for Mom and… her friend,” he said flatly. “You didn’t even buy me flowers on my birthday.” “They wilt.” Later, I went to check for camp scholarship replies and stumbled on a Facebook story: Steve’s mom… and Lora—his ex—drinking champagne by the ocean.
