“With 75 dollars, you have more than enough to feed the household for the entire month. If it isn’t enough, it’s because you don’t know how to be a wife.”
Maya placed the calculator on the table and stared at her husband as if he had just started speaking another language. In front of her were the electricity, water, and gas bills, along with the latest supermarket statement. Outside, Willowford was waking up to the rumble of buses and the call of the man selling tamales on the corner.
“75 dollars for food, cleaning supplies, and everything else?” she asked.
Derek adjusted his jacket in front of the hallway mirror. Ever since he had been promoted to supervisor at an imported flooring agency, he spent more time admiring himself than saying goodbye to her.
“It’s a budget. Learn to manage it. My mother raised three children on less.”
“Your mother had chickens, a vegetable garden, and lived in a village 30 years ago. We live in a city where a kilo of meat costs nearly 10 dollars.”
Derek smiled smugly. “I pay the rent and utilities. You’re in charge of the household. Besides, I’m saving for something important for my professional image.”
“And what are you going to eat?”
“Normal food. Meat, stews, soup. I work all day and need to eat properly.”
That was when Maya realized he wasn’t joking. He expected to eat the way he always had while she somehow worked miracles with 2 dollars a day.
“I’m not putting in any extra money,” she said.
“We’ll see.” Derek closed the door behind him and left smelling of expensive cologne, satisfied that he had established a new rule.
Maya worked in the archives of a public library. Her salary was modest, but she knew how to compare prices, take advantage of sales, and avoid unnecessary expenses. Until that month, they had both contributed to the household. But Derek had decided to reduce his share without consulting her, as though his salary gave him the right to turn her into the manager of their poverty.
That afternoon, she bought milk, eggs, tortillas, rice, beans, a kilo of potatoes, soap, and a package of pasta. The total came to 22 dollars. When she looked at the receipt, she let out a dry laugh.
That night, she served watery soup with potatoes and noodles. Derek stirred his bowl with a disgusted expression. “Where’s the meat?”
“It wasn’t included in your budget.” “Look for deals.” “Deals don’t turn 75 dollars into 300.”
Derek ate the soup while grumbling. Then he found a piece of cheese and finished it without offering her any.
Over the next few days, Maya kept her word. She prepared beans, rice, pasta with tomato sauce, and potatoes with onions. She ate at the library cafeteria, where employees could get an inexpensive meal, and saved part of her salary. She also made sure to buy food for Marmalade, the orange cat that slept by the window.
Derek came home smelling like tacos al pastor or hamburgers. He was clearly eating out, but he didn’t contribute a single extra dollar.
On Saturday, while cleaning the closet, Maya found a folded receipt inside her husband’s jacket.
Luxury sports rims: 23,000 dollars. Low-profile tires: 14,000 dollars. Purchase date: 2 days earlier.
Maya sat down on the bed, the paper trembling between her fingers. They weren’t struggling financially. Derek had forced her to count tortillas so he could show off an old car with brand-new wheels.
Then she noticed a handwritten note at the bottom of the receipt: “Down payment made by bank transfer from Diane Prescott.”
Diane was Derek’s mother. Maya slowly raised her eyes. Her mother-in-law was coming to stay with them on Thursday. And Derek still had no idea that Maya had just discovered something far worse than a set of expensive rims.
PART 2: THE DINNER WITH THREE WITNESSES
Maya didn’t scream or confront Derek that evening. Instead, she carefully folded the receipt, placed it inside a small plastic sleeve, and tucked it into her work tote bag.
Over the next three days, she meticulously planned Thursday evening’s dinner, inviting two people to join them: Arthur, her older brother who worked as a certified forensic accountant, and Clara, their long-time neighbor who lived right across the hall.
When Thursday evening arrived, Diane Prescott walked into the apartment wearing her favorite pearl necklace and an air of effortless authority.
Derek proudly walked in right behind her, kissing his mother’s cheek and glancing at the dining table with high expectations. “I hope you prepared something proper, Maya. My mother deserves a feast after her long flight.”
Maya smiled warmly, motioning for everyone to take their seats. Beside Diane sat Arthur, notebook in hand, and Clara, who was sipping a glass of water.
“I prepared a meal strictly based on the household allowance provided by Derek,” Maya announced calmly, carrying out four identical bowls to the table.
Inside each bowl sat a single boiled potato, two spoonfuls of plain canned beans, and a dry corn tortilla.
Derek’s face flushed bright red as he slammed his palm onto the table. “Are you out of your mind?! You served my mother scraps! Is this how you humiliate me in front of company?”
“You gave me a strict $75 budget for the entire month and demanded I make it work,” Maya replied evenly, looking directly at her mother-in-law. “That leaves exactly 83 cents per meal per person. This plate represents your exact financial contribution, Derek.”
“You embarrassing failure!” Diane snapped, glaring at Maya. “My son earns a executive salary! How dare you starve him and pretend it’s his fault?”
Arthur cleared his throat loudly, opening his leather portfolio and laying out three bank audit sheets across the center of the table.
(The true source of the stolen money is about to be revealed! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
