“…And you still have your apartment,” Emily added as she walked past Margaret. “With a mortgage on it, if I remember correctly. By the way—how are the payments going?”
The payments, as it turned out, were a disaster. Jason still hadn’t secured anything resembling stable employment. Katie, his sister, flatly refused to help, saying, “I have kids to raise. This mess is yours, not mine.” For three straight months the bank had been adding late fees and penalties, and eventually it began sending formal notices threatening to terminate the contract and put the apartment up for auction.
Emily and Jason’s divorce was finalized quickly. There were no children, and aside from Jason’s debts, there was nothing to divide.
A year later, Emily wandered through a shopping mall a few days before New Year’s, browsing for gifts. She looked radiant—new haircut, poised posture, a calm, self-assured smile. She paused in front of a display window showcasing sleek coffee machines and considered whether she should treat herself.
“Emily?”
She turned. Jason stood a few feet away. He looked worn down, older than his years. He was wearing the same coat as the winter before, only now it was frayed at the cuffs and shiny with wear.
“Hi, Jason.”
“Hi… You look incredible.”
“Thank you. I feel incredible,” she replied evenly. “How are things? How’s your mother?”
His face twisted as if he’d bitten into something sour.
“The bank took the apartment. They auctioned it off for next to nothing. What they got barely covered the principal. The late fees and penalties are still in Mom’s name. Now half of her pension goes straight to collections. And the amount the court ordered her to repay you? She’s covering that too—about a thousand dollars a month.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emily said politely, though her tone held no warmth.
“We’re all crammed into Mom’s two-bedroom now. Me, her, and Katie with the kids—she moved in after her divorce. It’s chaos. Total nightmare. Mom nags from morning till night. And she keeps bringing you up. Says, ‘Emily was so wonderful. We lived so well when she was around.’”
Emily let out a short laugh.
“Really? What happened to ‘trash’ and ‘I’ll curse you’?”
“Well… she got over that pretty fast.” He stepped closer, trying to catch her eyes. “Emily… want to grab a coffee? I’ve changed. I found work—I’m driving a taxi. The car’s rented, but still. I’m trying. I miss you. I was an idiot. Maybe we could start over? We could rent a place, just the two of us. No mothers involved.”
She studied him carefully—and felt nothing. No anger. No lingering hurt. Not even pity. Just a tired-looking stranger who smelled faintly of cheap cigarettes and unresolved problems.
“No, Jason,” she said quietly. “There’s no starting over. I’ve already reached the end. The end of that miserable chapter.”
“But we loved each other!”
“I loved you,” she corrected. “You loved having someone convenient—someone who handled your difficulties. You know, I recently took out a mortgage. My own. In my own name. I’m renovating it myself. And no one will ever tell me it isn’t my home. No one will move their sister and her children into it. Do you know what that feels like? Not depending on anyone? It’s freedom. And it’s happiness.”
“You’ve gotten cold,” he muttered.
“I’ve grown up.” She adjusted the strap of her bag. “Goodbye, Jason. And give my regards to Margaret. Tell her thank you. If she hadn’t been so greedy back then, I might still be paying for her dream while destroying my own life. She set me free.”
With that, Emily turned and walked away, her heels tapping crisply against the polished floor. She didn’t buy the coffee machine after all. Instead, she decided to put the money aside for a trip. This year she was flying to the ocean—her first vacation in five years. Alone. Free. Content.
Jason stood there for a long time, a pack of discount cigarettes crumpled in his fist, watching her disappear into the crowd. Only then did it truly sink in how foolishly he and his mother had destroyed their own good fortune—slaughtering the goose that laid the golden eggs because they wanted soup.
At home, an argument about dirty dishes awaited him, along with crying nephews and Margaret’s constant complaints. Lately, she had taken to pulling out an old photograph of Emily she’d stumbled upon in a forgotten album, sighing over it night after night. But regret changes nothing. Life had issued its invoice, and now it had to be paid—in full.