My phone vibrated, lighting up with Max’s name. Normally, my heart would have leapt into my throat and I would have snatched it up, hoping for an apology. This time, I watched it ring. Once, twice, three times. The screen went dark. About ten minutes later, it rang again. Lena this time. I let it go to voicemail. Then, a text message popped up from Max: Mom, please answer. We need to talk. I selected the message and deleted it without a response.
Around two in the afternoon, I decided to go for a walk. Not because I had an errand to run for them, but simply for the pleasure of it. I hadn’t done that in months. My walks were always purposeful: to the bank for a transfer, to the supermarket to buy them something, to the pharmacy for Lena’s prescriptions. Today, I walked for me. I ambled past the park where I used to push Max on the swings when he was small. I remembered the sweet, chubby-faced boy who would hug my legs and tell me I was the best mommy in the whole world. When had that boy turned into this man, who saw me as an ATM with a heartbeat? When had I started to believe that love was a currency I had to earn with monthly payments?
My feet carried me, almost of their own accord, to the bank. I stood outside for a moment, looking at the familiar doors. The branch manager, Mr. Klein, saw me through the glass and gave me a friendly wave. I had known him for years; he had processed every one of those monthly $500 transfers. He had watched my account slowly drain to fill theirs. I pushed the door open and walked directly to his office.
“Mr. Klein,” I said, my voice firm. “I need you to cancel every single automatic transfer I have set up, effective immediately.”
He looked up from his desk, genuine surprise on his face. “Mrs. Richter? Are you quite sure? Did something happen?”
“What happened,” I replied, “is that I’ve finally decided to open my eyes. I want to cancel all of them. And I’d like information on how to ensure that no one else has any access to my accounts whatsoever.”
As he began typing on his computer, processing my request, my phone started buzzing incessantly in my purse. Max, then Lena, then Max again. It was as if they had a supernatural radar for the moment their financial lifeline was being severed. I took the phone out, held down the power button, and watched the screen go black.
“Mrs. Richter,” Mr. Klein said as he handed me the printed confirmation slips, “forgive me for intruding, but over these past few years, I have seen you be exceptionally generous with your family. I just need to be certain that you are not being… pressured into making these changes.”
His kindness, from a man who was little more than an acquaintance, touched me more deeply than any hollow sentiment from my son had in years. “I’m not being pressured, Mr. Klein,” I assured him. “On the contrary, I have finally stopped pressuring myself.”
When I walked out of the bank, I felt a strange, buoyant lightness, as if I had left a hundred-pound sack of stones on the floor of his office. For the first time in years, my money was entirely my own. I had no financial obligations to anyone but myself. I walked home, thinking of all the things I had denied myself to please Max and Lena: the trips I hadn’t taken, the friends I’d lost touch with, the hobbies I’d abandoned. Every dollar I spent on myself had felt like a dollar stolen from their needs.
As I turned onto my street, my newfound peace evaporated. There were three cars parked in front of my house: Max’s, Lena’s, and a sleek, unfamiliar sedan. I could see shadows moving behind my living room curtains. A cold dread washed over me. They had keys. I had given them keys because I trusted them, because I believed, in some foolish corner of my heart, that family took care of one another. I took a deep, steadying breath, squaring my shoulders. It was time for the first real confrontation of my new life.
I opened the front door to a scene I will never forget. Max was sitting on my sofa, his face buried in his hands. Lena was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. A distinguished-looking older man I had never seen before was standing at my dining table, casually leafing through a stack of my personal papers.
“What is going on here?” I demanded, my voice louder and sharper than I had intended.
All three of them froze and turned to stare at me as if I were the one who had broken in. Lena was the first to recover, her voice dripping with a frantic, fake concern. “Renate! Thank God you’re here! We’ve been so worried. This is Mr. Fisher. He’s from the law firm we consulted about your… well, about your current situation.”
“My situation?” I asked, the calm returning to my voice. “I was under the impression I was doing perfectly well.”
Max finally looked up, his eyes wide with a kind of financial panic. “Mom, we went to the bank. Mr. Klein told us you canceled all the transfers, that you blocked our access. What is this about? We don’t understand.”..
