My Husband Left Me And Our Newborn In The Rain Because He Didn’t Want To Dirty His Car Seats. He Threw $20 At Me And Told Me To Take The Bus. He Doesn’t Realize I Actually Own His Company. What Should I Do?

“And one more thing. Make sure every single debit and credit card he is carrying right now is completely blocked. Flag them as lost or stolen so they can’t be manually approved by the merchant. I want him to experience a humiliation he will never forget for the rest of his life.”

“Consider it done, ma’am. Within two minutes, all financial access for Ethan Williams linked to Davenport Holdings will be completely paralyzed. Anything else?”

“That’s all for now. Thank you. I’ll call again when I’ve arrived.”

I ended the call. The corners of my mouth lifted into a bitter, cynical smile.

I opened Instagram again, but this time not to watch, but to witness the beginning of their downfall. On the screen, Ethan had just raised his hand, signaling a waiter for the check.

His face was still arrogant, full of self-confidence. He pulled out his leather wallet and drew out a sleek black card.

The card he boasted was his Amex Centurion, earned through his own hard work. In reality, it was a supplementary card linked to my primary unlimited-limit account.

“All right, everyone, time to pay up,”

Ethan said to the camera with a smug grin.

“Eat as much as you want. Don’t even look at the prices!”

“Thanks, big bro!”

Jessica cheered.

The waiter arrived with a portable card machine. Ethan casually slid the card into the slot.

I held my breath, counting down in my head: 3, 2, 1. On the live feed, the waiter’s expression changed to one of confusion.

He tried swiping the card again, then one more time. Ethan’s smug look began to falter.

“What’s the problem? Is your machine broken?”

Ethan asked, his voice rising.

“I’m sorry, sir. The card was declined,”

The waiter replied loud enough to be heard on the live stream.

“What? That’s impossible! Try it again. It has a multi-million dollar limit!”

Ethan snapped.

I let out a small, hollow laugh that was nonetheless satisfying. Enjoy your dessert, my dear husband, I thought to myself.

The bus I was on continued its journey through the rain, carrying me away from a painful past and toward a future where I was the one in control. The game had just begun.

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of the bus shelter competed with the roar of the departing bus engine. I sat alone on the cold metal bench, pulling my thin jacket tighter to shield my baby from the spray.

But my eyes remained glued to my cracked phone screen. There on that small display, the real drama was unfolding—a tragic comedy starring my husband on the Instagram live feed.

The atmosphere in the premium Soho steakhouse had grown tense. The wide, self-satisfied grin Ethan wore while devouring a million-dollar tomahawk steak was now fading.

The waiter, standing politely by their table, still held the card machine, but his expression was becoming uneasy.

“I’m very sorry, sir,”

The waiter’s voice was clear as Jessica, intending to capture a moment of prestigious payment, had moved the phone closer.

“The card has been declined. The transaction was rejected by the issuing bank.”

Ethan laughed, but it was a hollow, forced sound meant to cover his embarrassment in front of the camera and his mother.

“You must be kidding. That’s a Centurion Black Card. It can’t be declined. Swipe it again. Your machine signal is probably weak because of the rain.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll try one more time,”

The waiter said patiently.

I held my breath, my heart pounding with a strange mix of satisfaction and pain. In the live stream’s comment section, Ethan’s followers were starting to buzz.

“Lol declined. Did the CEO forget to pay his bill?” one wrote. “Let’s be positive, guys, maybe the chip is just greasy from the steak,” another quipped sarcastically.

On screen, the waiter shook his head again. The indicator light on the machine flashed red.

“It’s the same, sir. ‘Do not honor.’ This card cannot be used.”

Ethan’s face turned beet red. Veins bulged in his neck.

His sky-high pride was being publicly tested. He roughly fumbled with his branded leather wallet and pulled out two more cards: a Platinum Amex and a Gold Visa.

“Here, try one of these. One’s Chase, the other’s Capital One. They can’t all be broken,”

He explained.

Jessica was still filming, but her hand was starting to shake.

“Ethan, what’s going on? This is so embarrassing with everyone watching,”

She whispered frantically.

“Shut up, Jessica! It has to be a systemwide bank failure,”

Ethan snapped.

The waiter tried the second card. Declined. The third card. Declined.

The mood at the table shifted from annoyance to outright panic. My mother-in-law, Sharon, who had been busy picking her teeth, now glared at him.

She slammed her napkin onto the table.

“Ethan, what is the meaning of this? Don’t you dare embarrass me. We can’t even pay for dinner? You said your deal just brought in millions!”

“Just be patient, Mom. This has to be a technical error,”

Ethan said, beads of sweat forming on his slick forehead.

He stared at the card machine as if it were a monster about to devour him whole.

“Ma’am, call your manager! All of your machines are garbage. I want to pay with my money. Why are you making it so difficult?”

The restaurant manager, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit, approached their table. I recognized the restaurant; it was one of my father’s favorites for hosting international business partners.

Their service standards were impeccable, and they wouldn’t tolerate a scene that disturbed other guests.

“Good evening, sir. Is there a problem I can help you with?”

The manager asked, his tone calm but firm.

“Your machines are broken!”

Ethan accused, his voice rising and causing diners at nearby tables to turn and look.

“I’ve tried three different cards and they were all declined. My balance is high enough to buy this entire restaurant!”

The manager offered a thin, polite, but deadly smile.

“My apologies, sir, but we just processed transactions for tables 12 and 8 with this very machine, and both went through smoothly. If the machine reads ‘declined’ or ‘call issuer,’ the issue lies with your card’s issuing bank, not our equipment.”

Ethan was speechless. Checkmate.

Jessica quickly ended the live stream. My phone screen went dark, but I didn’t need visuals anymore.

I could imagine the rest with perfect clarity as if I were sitting in the empty chair beside them. I quickly opened my banking app and checked the status of the supplementary cards Ethan held.

All of them were flagged in red: “Blocked by cardholder.” I smiled, but the show wasn’t over.

I knew Ethan rarely carried much cash; he considered it old-fashioned and dirty. Their bill for Wagyu, truffles, and expensive wine had to be at least five or six thousand dollars.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Mr. Harrison.

He had sent a photo. Apparently, Mr. Harrison had eyes and ears everywhere, or perhaps he had simply hacked the restaurant security cameras.

I didn’t care how. The photo showed Ethan arguing with the manager, his face pale and desperate.

The next photo showed him taking off the Rolex Submariner he was always flaunting and handing it to the manager. Then a text from Mr. Harrison came through.

“Your husband attempted to use his watch as collateral as all his debit and credit cards are non-functional. The restaurant manager refused.”

I frowned. Why refuse? A Rolex was worth tens of thousands, far more than their dinner bill.

The next message arrived.

“The manager recognized the watch as a high-quality counterfeit. Ethan was publicly shamed for attempting to pawn off a fake. He has been forced to leave his driver’s license and sign a promissory note.”

A laugh escaped my lips, a sound mixed with tears. All this time, Ethan had belittled me for my cheap clothes and unbranded bags.

He always flaunted that watch as a symbol of his success.