It was a normal Thursday morning in early spring. I left for work after making coffee. Michael was home unusually, and Patricia was at the kitchen island scrolling her phone. Neither looked up.
By noon, my phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Declines. Declines everywhere—pharmacy, gas, lunch—everything. When I opened my banking app, every shared card was flagged with warnings.
I called Michael from my desk. He answered laughing. He said he’d canceled all my cards to “teach me discipline.” If I wanted anything, I’d have to ask him first—even basic necessities. In the background, I heard Patricia’s approving little sounds. Then he hung up without letting me respond.
I didn’t cry. I sat perfectly still, feeling that cold, metallic kind of betrayal. Then I opened a folder on my computer labeled Contingency—something I’d put together two years earlier after Patricia once joked that hunger makes women obey faster. Back then I hoped she was exaggerating. She wasn’t.