I hit answer, and Julia's wailing crashed through the speaker immediately：
“Delilah! Did you get the license or not?!”
“Your brother—yes, your brother now—is in trouble again! The collectors are at the door with knives!”
“Elijah's waiting for you to send money and save his life!”
Over the past five years, I'd taken calls like this more times than I could count.
Every single time, I was the dutiful firefighter, draining my savings to fill the bottomless pit of the Sanchez family.
This time, I answered cold：
“Not my problem anymore.”
The crying on the other end cut off. Julia's voice flipped straight to venom：
“Delilah, you ungrateful little wretch!”
“You haven't even married into this family yet, and you think you can give me attitude?”
“If Greg weren't kind enough to marry you, who else would want you at your age? Nobody!”
She twisted every dollar I'd poured into their family into me throwing myself at them, and recast Greg's lies as charity.
“You've been eating our food and living under our roof for five years. What's so wrong about chipping in a little to save your brother?”
I actually laughed.
When had I ever eaten their food or lived under their roof?
For five years, the rent was mine. Every household bill was mine.
Greg snatched the phone out of my hand and killed the call.
He pulled me into a corner near the county clerk's office and softened his voice.
“Lilah, my mom says ugly things. Don't take it to heart.”
“I know I was wrong, but Emily really was just a novelty. You're the wife I chose.”
He reached for me. I stepped back.
“Just get the license with me today, and I'll hand over my salary account to you from now on. All yours. Deal?”
“The house is a mess right now. Those collectors will do anything. You're the only one who can save Elijah.”
He looked into my eyes, wearing that tender, devoted expression he'd perfected.
“Lilah, have you forgotten who sat with you all night at your mom's wake?”
He always did this. Found my weakest spot and pressed.
Forced me to soften. Forced me to give in.
“Hey, you two, why haven't you gone inside yet?”
Emily had walked over at some point.
She was carrying a dark gray suit jacket—the one I'd spent two thousand dollars on last month so Greg could look presentable.
She held it out to Greg, smiling with that wide-eyed innocent look：
“Don't be mad, okay?”
“He slept at my place last night and left in such a rush he forgot his jacket.”
I stared at that jacket, and the humiliation rolled over me in waves.
Greg took the jacket from her and frowned at Emily：
“Enough. Stop talking.”
A second later, a voice message from Elijah came through.
“Bro, why hasn't she sent the money yet?”
“Tell her to transfer fifty grand for now. You're getting married anyway—family doesn't nickel-and-dime each other.”
I looked at Greg and kept my voice level：
“You want money? Fine.”
“First, you add up every single dollar I've paid for your family over the past five years. Every last one. Then you put it in writing and sign an IOU.”
Greg's patience snapped. He flung my hand away.
“Delilah, are you ever going to stop?!”
“We're family! Since when do a husband and wife sit down and count every penny? Is that really necessary?”
“You've been wanting to break up with me all along, haven't you? So today you drag money into it to humiliate me?”
Before I could answer, a taxi screeched to a stop at the curb.
Julia charged out of the car, hair disheveled, shoved through the crowd, and clamped down on my wrist.
Right there, in front of everyone, she screamed：
“Delilah!”
“If you don't get that license today and hand over the money—”
“you're forcing this family to die!”
