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.
