John looked at me and let out a mocking laugh.
"You want to pay? Then go earn the money first! You eat my food, you drink my water. What money do you have?!"
A wave of bitter anguish crashed through me.
Years of heavy socializing had wrecked John's health and left him nearly infertile. For three years, I had given up my career entirely, pouring everything into round after round of IVF, desperate to give him an heir.
In the beginning, John had understood my sacrifice. He had appreciated what it cost me.
But three years. That was all it took for him to see me as dead weight.
He was right. I had no money. So fine, no burial plot.
"Alright, John. Forget the burial plot. You handle it."
John looked pleased that I'd backed down so quickly.
He made a phone call and summoned a group of guys. Sitting in his car with a cigarette dangling from his fingers, he pointed at the charred ruins of the old house and barked his orders.
"Go drag that burned-up corpse out of there. Goddamn bad luck, the whole thing."
The young men took the cash and got to work without hesitation. In no time at all, they carried my father-in-law out on a stretcher, a white sheet draped over him.