Trash for Her Debts

My wife, Alisha West, has always been obsessively frugal.

After marrying her, my single guilty pleasure became blowing money on luxury watches—almost like revenge for how absurdly tightfisted she was.

By the time our daughter, Elyse Day, turned 7, she had inherited every bit of her mother’s penny-pinching nature.

The two of them looked completely out of place in our sprawling mansion.

And I loved it.

I’d slip into my latest custom-tailored suits and watch them wince at my credit card statements, their expressions twisted in quiet pain.

Until one day, lines of floating text suddenly appeared before my eyes.

[This spendthrift idiot is still shopping? Doesn’t he know his wife’s company is about to go bankrupt?]

[She’s been drained dry supporting this parasite. Her T-shirt collar is practically worn out from washing. Good thing the financially savvy male lead is about to show up and save her.]

[Can’t wait for Alisha to file for divorce and kick this useless freeloader out. Let’s see how he survives fighting stray dogs for scraps under a bridge.]

I slammed the limited-edition Richard Mille watch onto the table.

Alisha, who was crouched on the floor breaking down delivery boxes for recycling, and Elyse, who was helping stomp them flat, both jumped in shock.

A chill ran through me.

I lunged forward, snatched the battered cardboard box from Elyse’s hands, and held it tightly against my chest.

"No… no more buying. I’m returning this watch.

"And these boxes… don’t sell them. I think we might need them someday… to lay out under a bridge when we’re sleeping outside…"

"Dad, do you have a fever?"

My daughter, Elyse Day, reached out her chubby little hand, trying to touch my forehead.

I grabbed her hand, and something in my chest twisted painfully.

A year ago, her hands had still been soft and plump. Now there were faint calluses on her palms. You didn’t get hands like that without living carefully, counting every dollar, just like her mom.

I’d failed them.

I used to look down on the two of them for being cheap. Even buying an ice cream meant comparing prices at three different stores before committing.

Now I understood. Alisha West, my wife, had been preparing for the family’s collapse all along.

"Kiddo, I’m not sick." I rubbed my temples. "I just… finally figured things out."

At that, Alisha and Elyse exchanged a glance, then quietly went back to flattening cardboard boxes.

The comments drifted across my vision again.

[Oh? The spendthrift Kayden Day’s changing his ways? Yeah right. He’s definitely faking it to trick her into buying him something even more expensive]

[Exactly. People like him don’t change. A spoiled rich boy has no idea what real hardship looks like.]

[Alisha’s got it rough. Right before bankruptcy, and she’s still being drained dry by this man.]

That was bullshit.

Yeah, I used to spend money like it meant nothing, but I wasn’t heartless.

If Alisha had been carrying this family on her back, then