Chapter 1 - The Two Cups of Instant Noodles
“This month, I’m giving my entire paycheck to my mom. You make more than enough to support this house.”
Keaton said it while helping himself to a second serving of stew, as casually as if he were commenting on tomorrow’s weather.
I froze, my spoon suspended halfway to my mouth.
Earlier that afternoon, I had been promoted to regional finance director.
After seven years of working weekends, staying up through the night to finish audits, and answering work calls even when I was sick with a fever, my salary was finally increasing to twelve thousand dollars a month after taxes.
I had come home bursting with excitement.
I stopped to buy fresh meat, warm tortillas, and Keaton’s favorite dessert.
I couldn’t wait to tell him that we could finally pay off our apartment faster and start saving for the baby we’d dreamed about for years.
Instead of congratulating me, he immediately started calculating how to spend my money.
“Your entire paycheck?” I asked. “What about the mortgage? The utilities? Groceries?”
“You can cover all of that,” he replied with a shrug. “Mom is better at managing money anyway. Besides, we’re helping the family.”
My mother-in-law, Bernice, was sitting beside him.
For months, she had been showing up for dinner almost every evening, and some nights she even stayed over, always claiming she felt lonely.
“A woman who earns that much should be grateful she can support her husband’s family,” she said. “Don’t let this promotion make you arrogant.”
For the past two years, I had paid almost everything.
The monthly mortgage.
Groceries.
Utilities.
Bernice’s medications.
Even birthday gifts for her relatives.
Keaton had contributed at first, but little by little he stopped.
First he claimed he had unexpected expenses.
Then he insisted work had become unstable.
After that, he promised he’d make it up to me later.
He never did.
Yet somehow, that night I was the one accused of being selfish and calculating.
The following day, after leaving work, I skipped the supermarket.
Instead, I walked into a small neighborhood convenience store and bought two cups of instant noodles.
When Keaton and Bernice came home, they found the steaming cups waiting on the dining table.
“Where’s dinner?” Keaton shouted. “I’ve had a long day, and this is what you serve me?”
I smiled.
“You don’t contribute a single dollar, yet you expect restaurant-quality meals. Starting today, anyone who wants something special can pay for it.”
Bernice slammed her hand on the table.
“You make twelve thousand dollars a month, and you’re humiliating your husband over a cheap cup of noodles?”
Without saying another word, I walked into the bedroom, grabbed a blue folder, and returned.
Inside were eighteen months of bank statements, receipts, invoices, and transfer records.
“The mortgage. Three thousand dollars every month. Groceries. Nearly fifteen hundred. Utilities, maintenance fees, and your medications. Another thousand. Every single payment came from my account.”
Then I placed another stack of documents in front of Bernice.
More than thirty thousand dollars in bank transfers I’d sent her for what she claimed were medical appointments, emergency repairs, and treatments.
The color drained from her face.
“I… I needed that money for other things,” she blurted out before catching herself.
“What other things?”
Before she could answer, her phone vibrated.
The screen lit up with a message from Keaton’s younger brother, Austin.
Before Bernice could flip the phone over, I caught a glimpse of the notification.
Mom, answer your phone. They’re coming for us.
Keaton’s face turned ghostly pale.
Bernice hurriedly locked the screen, her hands shaking, and both of them immediately demanded that I stop asking questions.
I looked down at the two cups of instant noodles, now growing cold on the table.
In that moment, I realized they weren’t hiding a few irresponsible expenses.
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They were hiding something far bigger.
And I had no idea what was about to walk through my front door.
