My husband thought I was a gold digger, a vain woman obsessed with appearances. He was so terrified Id raise our son to be just as materialistic that he controlled every single cent in our household. Even after our son and I died, he planned to burn spirit money for us in installments.
Ill burn it for you three times a day, hed said, his voice cold and even. Just to make sure you and the boy dont go on a spending spree in the afterlife.
My in-laws stared, dumbfounded.
My son and I were just as stunned.
You control our money when were alive, and you want to keep controlling it after were dead? Its enough to make a ghost come back to life just to haunt you!
And then I opened my eyes. My son and I were alive. Truly alive.
I blinked again, and the world solidified around me. I was back on the day my husband, Andy, and I got divorced.
Lily, youll get custody of Jeff after the divorce, Andy said, his tone clipped and businesslike. You and he can move into the apartment I own. Ill transfer child support to you three times a day.
He continued, consulting a small notebook. Ive spoken with the nanny. A typical family spends about five dollars on breakfast, ten on lunch, and fifteen on dinner. Ill round it up and give you thirty dollars a day.
Any additional expenses will require a written request from you, which I will review and approve at my discretion. This is to prevent you from spending the money frivolously and corrupting Jeffs values.
Andy droned on, listing his concerns, his arrangements
In a daze, I looked down at my son, Jeff. He was looking right back at me.
One look was all it took. I knew.
We had both been reborn.
In my past life, Andys fear of my supposed gold-digging nature led him to force me to quit my job after we got married. For three years, Jeff and I lived under his thumb, dependent on his every whim. When I finally couldnt take it anymore and asked for a divorce, this was his response. He calculated our basic living expenses down to the penny, terrified of giving me a single extra dollar that I might waste.
He was religious about it, sending the money in three infuriating installments every single day.
If I didn't send him a detailed report on Jeff's day, complete with pictures, he would dock the support as punishment. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for three.
That suffocating control had pushed me to the edge. I spent my days washing dishes in a restaurant until my fingers were wrinkled prunes and my nights cleaning office buildings until my back screamed in protest. I never dared to stop.
Jeff was a growing boy. He needed milk, fruit, things a growing boy needs. But the pittance Andy gave me barely covered our three meals, and that was before his frequent deductions. There was never anything left over.
I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain barely enough to suppress the wave of hatred rising in my chest.
Across from me, Andy watched me with cold, judgmental eyes, as if expecting me to snatch his money and run off to a casino at any second.
Fine, I said, my voice surprisingly calm. I agree.
Andy was clearly taken aback by my quick compliance. He paused, then pushed a pre-prepared divorce agreement across the table. Sign it. And remember what you said. If I find out youre taking my money and squandering it instead of caring for our son, you wont see another dime.
I picked up the pen and signed my name, each stroke a farewell to the misery of my past life.
Once it was done, I took Jeffs hand and stood up. Without another glance at Andy, I walked straight out the door.