Chapter 4
"Oh," I said flatly.
"Could you maybe spot me?" he finally stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
I turned to look at him and smiled.
"You want a loan? Of course," I replied and nodded. "I'll need you to sign a promissory note, and I'll be charging the standard bank interest rate. Fingerprint on the bottom, please. So, what's your repayment timeline?"
His face fell. "Emily! We're married! You're going to charge me interest?"
"David, we are financial partners," I said, my smile vanishing. I reminded him, word for word, "According to our agreement, any and all expenses related to our families of origin will be the sole responsibility of that individual.
"Your brother getting into a fight is your problem, not mine. Loaning you the money is a kindness. Charging you interest is business."
I looked at his ashen face and twisted the knife. "And don't forget, when you proposed this arrangement, you said, and I quote, 'A woman needs to be independent.'
"Well, now I expect you, as a man, to be 'independent' enough to solve your own family's problems."
"You..." He was shaking with fury, pointing a trembling finger at me, unable to form a complete sentence.
He never thought I would throw his own words back at him like a slap.
"I don't have it!" he finally roared, like a cornered animal. "My pension doesn't get deposited until next month! I don't have a cent to my name!"
"That sounds like your problem," I said with a shrug. "You could ask your friends. Or your old work buddies. Or you could ask your son. Just don't ask me."
With that, I stood up, walked into my bedroom, and gently closed the door.
I knew this would be hard for him. His pride would never allow him to ask friends or colleagues for money.
And Michael's salary wasn't high, and he had just bought a new car with a hefty monthly payment. He didn't have ten thousand dollars.
Which meant I was David's only option.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was Michael.
"Mom, did you and Dad have a fight?" he asked with anxiety.
"No," I replied.
"But Grandma just called me, crying. She said Uncle Eric is in serious trouble, and Dad needs to send money right away. Then Dad called and told me to try and borrow money. Mom, what is going on? Is everything okay?"
I sighed and told him everything, including David's retirement ultimatum, the fifty-fifty split, and the conversation we just had.
The line went silent.
After a long moment, Michael spoke with disbelief, "Dad did what? He's making you go Dutch?"
"Your father believes he's been 'supporting' me all these years. Now that he's retired, he's decided he's done," I said calmly.
"And what about Uncle Eric?" Michael asked.
"That is your father's responsibility, not mine. If he wants to play the role of the dutiful son and the heroic older brother, that's his choice. But he will not do it with my money.
"And he will certainly not force me to sell the house my parents left me to clean up his brother's disasters."
My tone left no room for argument.
Michael was silent again. He knew what a train wreck his uncle was. He knew how his grandmother played favorites. He had grown up listening to his parents fight about this very thing.
"Okay, Mom. I get it," he said, sounding exhausted. "I'll figure something out for the money. Just try not to fight with Dad. You know how he gets..."
"I'm not fighting with him," I interrupted. "I am simply adhering to the rules he himself established. Your father is a grown man. He needs to take responsibility for his own decisions."
I hung up the phone, a strange sense of calm settling over me.
This wasn't just a skirmish. It was a war. David had his entire family backing him up. And I had myself.