“I can’t just kick her out. She’s my mother.”
“You don’t have to kick her out. Just suggest that she’d be happier somewhere else, for her own good.”
Silence from my son.
And then: “I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it.”
My son.
My only son.
Was going to think about it.
File three.
January 8th, 2025.
Emily with her friends in the living room drinking wine while I prepared snacks in the kitchen.
“You guys have no idea how lucky I am. My mother-in-law does everything in the house so I can focus on my career. That’s why I got the promotion, because I don’t have to worry about anything domestic.”
“And she doesn’t charge you?”
“Charge me? She lives here for free. Of course she doesn’t charge. Besides, she sold her house and gave Daniel the money. It’s like her way of paying to live with us.”
More laughter.
“You’re so smart, girl. Take advantage of it while she can still work. When she gets too old, you’ll figure something out.”
There were seventeen files in total.
Seventeen recordings of conversations where they treated me like a commodity, like a useful object that would eventually be discarded.
I copied everything to the USB drive and saved another copy to my email just in case.
Then I took something else out of the drawer—my old phone, the one I used before Daniel gave me a new one.
“So you can use WhatsApp more easily.”
What he didn’t know is that I never threw the old one away.
And on that phone, I had taken pictures.
Pictures of the receipts Emily threw in the trash.
Screenshots of her social media posts where she bragged about the house, the furniture, the renovations—always with the hashtag hashtag my house #personal achievements.
My house.
My achievements.
Never our house.
Never thanks to the family.
I copied all the photos to the same USB drive.
It was a quarter to 11.
Instagram showed they were still at the restaurant.
Now they were having coffee and cognac.
I still had time.
I went downstairs silently.
The house was dimly lit.
Only the hallway light was on.
I walked through the living room.
I stopped in front of each piece of furniture I had bought.
