My Husband Called Me A “Money-printing Machine” While Dining With His Mistress. I Canceled His Credit Cards And His Mother’s Life-saving Surgery In One Hour. Was I Too Cruel?

Locking the Doors

The first ray of sun of the new day pierced through the thick curtains, illuminating the spacious but cold living room. I had spent a sleepless night. The wine glass in my hand had been empty for a long time, but its bitter taste still lingered on my tongue, mixed with the bitterness in my throat.

I got up, went to my office and turned on the computer. Carla’s emails with the reports had arrived at 3:00 a.m. All my orders had been executed. The supplementary accounts blocked, the funding withdrawal statement drafted and waiting for my electronic signature, the utility cutoff notification sent, and most importantly, the email from Mass General Hospital confirming the cancellation of the surgery.

I stared at the words “cancellation confirmation” on the screen. The memories of months of desperate searching came back like a slow-motion film. Two years ago, when Eleanor was diagnosed with end-stage renal failure, the whole family fell apart. Ethan only knew how to cry and lament. Jessica feared that if her mother died, no one would give her more money. Only I took charge of everything.

I traveled to Singapore, to other parts of the United States. I contacted the best specialists to find a compatible donor. The money I spent was incalculable, but I never counted it. At that time I considered her my own mother. I remember the day I found a compatible donor. I cried with joy. I rushed home to break the news. Eleanor hugged me, calling me her savior, the best daughter-in-law in the world. Ethan took my hand, swearing he would be eternally grateful.

It turned out it was all just empty words. I clicked the button to approve the document, a soft click but with the weight of an indirect death sentence. I wasn’t killing her; I was just taking away the life that I myself had given her. If she and her family despised my money and my effort, let them use their noble affection and family values to save themselves.

I picked up the phone and called my private security team hired from a prestigious firm.

“Mike, it’s Elizabeth.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Grant. How can we help you?”

“I want you to send your men to the Brookline house right now. Your mission is to change all the locks and reinstall the security system with fingerprint access. Only I and my children will have access. Do not allow anyone else to enter, not my husband, not my mother-in-law. Understood?”

“Ma’am, and what do we do with their belongings?”

“Collect all their personal things, pack them in cardboard boxes and leave them outside by the gate. As for valuables like paintings, antiques, vehicles, if they don’t have documents proving they are their property, leave them all inside. The house will get on it immediately.”

“And the Mercedes with the license plate…?”

“That car is in my company’s name. Have someone drive it to the company parking lot and impound it. If anyone objects, call the police and let it be resolved according to the law. Understood?”

“Don’t worry.”

I hung up, feeling a surge of energy coursing through my back. I was no longer the submissive wife, I was the master of the game. I put on a business suit. I applied makeup carefully to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Today I had another important meeting, a meeting with the most important people in my life: my two young children.

I drove to the international school where my children Paul, 10, and Sophia, 8, studied. They were my most precious treasure, the only reason I had hesitated to get a divorce for so long. I was afraid they would miss a father, that they would suffer. But after last night I realized that letting them live in an environment of falsehood with a hypocritical father and a cruel grandmother was the greatest cruelty of all.

I asked for permission at school to pick them up early. Seeing me, they both ran to hug me.

“Mom, you came to pick us up so early today! And Dad?” Paul asked, his intelligent eyes scrutinized me.

“Dad’s on a work trip, honey. Today Mom and you are going for ice cream.” And then, “Mom has something to tell you.”

I took them to their favorite ice cream parlor by the Charles River. Watching the children eat ice cream with such innocence broke my heart. How was I going to tell them that their father was a traitor, that their grandmother was an ingrate? No, I didn’t want to sow hatred in their young minds. I would give them the choice.

“Paul, Sophia,” I began softly, “If one day Dad and Mom no longer live together, who would you like to live with?”

The children stopped eating and looked at me. Sophia, my sensitive daughter, had teary eyes.

“Mom, Dad, did you have a fight? I don’t want you to separate. My friend’s parents separated and she’s very sad.”

I hugged her and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry Sophia. There are some things grown-ups can’t solve. Dad and Mom don’t get along anymore. But no matter what happens, we will always love you very much.”

Paul, the older one, was more mature for his age. He put down his ice cream spoon and looked me straight in the eye.

“I know Dad has someone else.”

I was stunned. “How… how do you know?”

“I see him smiling to himself while texting. Once I asked for his phone to play a game and I saw a message from a girl calling him ‘my love.’ Dad had her saved as ‘Laura student’.”

I was speechless. It turns out that children today are more sensitive and observant than adults think. My son had known for a long time but had kept it to himself.

“And what do you think about that?” I asked with a trembling voice.

“I hate Dad,” Paul said firmly. “He never plays with us. He’s always busy. When he comes home he yells at us. Only Mom takes us to school, to play, she helps us with our homework. Dad always lies. He says he’s going to a meeting but I saw him go into a coffee shop with that girl.”

Sophia added, “I want to live with Mom too. Grandma always scolds me and tells me I’m useless just like my mother. And Aunt Jessica always bothers me and takes my toys. I’m very scared of them.”

Hearing my children’s words I felt my heart break into a thousand pieces. I had tried to protect them, but the toxicity of my husband’s family had seeped into their souls long ago. Eleanor, Jessica, and Ethan had not only hurt me but also their own blood.

“All right.” I wiped my tears and smiled with determination. “I promise you, from now on Mom will protect you. No one will ever hurt you again. We’ll move to a new house, just the three of us, and we’ll be very happy. Okay?”

“Yes!” they both said in unison and threw themselves into my arms. My biggest worry had vanished. My children had chosen me. They were my motivation, my strength to fight to the end.

I left the children with my parents for a few days to have my hands free to sort out the mess at the house. My parents upon hearing the story were furious but they supported my decision.

My father told me, “You’re doing the right thing, daughter. We were wrong to force you to be patient. Now you have to live for yourself and your children. If you need anything, we’ll help you.”

With my family’s support and my children as motivation, I felt stronger than ever. I drove back to my penthouse ready for the grand performance that was about to begin at the Brooklyn house.