My Mil Slapped Me For Choosing My Dying Mother Over A Thanksgiving Turkey. My Husband Watched And Did Nothing. I Just Cut The Power And Canceled Their Feast, So Why Do I Feel Like The Villain?

The Police Investigation

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and checked the screen. It was a text message from her bank.

“Your credit card ending in 3592 was cancelled today, November 22nd at 9:42 a.m. at your request. If this was not you, please contact customer service immediately.”

Emily stared at the screen dumbfounded. She hadn’t cancelled her card. She had deactivated the authorized user cards and stopped the auto payments, but that was it. What was this message about? She quickly launched her banking app and tried to log in. The loading screen spun for a few seconds before a red warning box popped up.

Your accounts have been temporarily frozen due to a report of suspicious activity. Please visit your nearest branch with a valid ID for verification.

Emily’s heart skipped a beat. She closed the app and opened the app for her other bank. The same warning message: Account Frozen. A third bank, a fourth—all the same. Every single one of her accounts was locked. Emily’s hands started to shake. Kevin’s text message came back to her: “Mom is furious. You need to come back and apologize.” And the silence from both her mother-in-law and Kevin after she had sent that final message to the group chat. What had they done?

Emily shot up and hurried toward the elevator. She had to get to the bank. She had to find out what was going on. Her mother’s hospital bills couldn’t be a single cent short.

The bank lobby was freezing, the air conditioning cranked up to full blast. Emily took a number and sat down on a plastic chair. 23 people ahead of her. The display showed number A37; her ticket was K60. She waited for 40 minutes. Finally, her number was called.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” the teller asked, her voice carrying the practiced friendliness of someone who had repeated the line thousands of times.

“My accounts have been frozen,” Emily said, sliding her ID and a bank book across the counter. “I’d like to know why.”

The teller took the ID and typed a few things into her keyboard. Her expression suddenly hardened.

“Miss Emily Davis?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Could you please wait just a moment?”

The teller stood up and disappeared into an office behind her. A few moments later, she returned with a middle-aged man in a suit. His name tag read “Mark Taylor, Branch Manager.”

“Miss Davis, would you please follow me to the conference room?”

Emily followed him into a small room with a round table and a few chairs. A bank poster with a smiling model hung on the wall.

“Please have a seat.”

Emily sat down. Mr. Taylor sat opposite her, his face a mask of professional solemnity.

“Miss Davis, regarding the reason your accounts were frozen: a report was filed by a member of your family.”

“A report?” Emily asked.

“Yes. Your husband, Mr. Kevin Davis, filed a police report this morning. He claims that you fraudulently used his credit card and intentionally canceled household utility payments, causing a power and water outage which resulted in significant financial loss and emotional distress.”

Emily’s mind went completely white. “Fraud?” Her voice trembled. “That card is in my name. It’s my card. He was just an authorized user.”

“We have confirmed that part.” Mr. Taylor nodded. “However, Mr. Davis claims that the card was originally issued based on his credit and financial backing, and that he is the de facto owner. He says he simply entrusted it to his wife.”

“My credit card was issued on my own credit!” Emily’s voice rose. “I submitted my proof of employment and income statements. It was all based on my credit score.”

Mr. Taylor’s expression remained unchanged. “Miss Davis, I understand you’re upset, but once a police investigation has begun, it is standard procedure to freeze all related accounts until the facts are clarified. We are simply following protocol.”

Emily gripped the arms of her chair. She thought of her mother lying in the ICU. She thought of the $1,500 daily hospital bill. She thought of the $120,000 in that account—the money her mother had saved her entire life, scrimping and saving for her daughter. And now all of it was tied up.

“My mother is in the intensive care unit right now.” Emily’s voice shook. “I need that money for her bills. And you’re telling me I can’t access a single penny?”

Mister Taylor’s gaze flickered for a moment, but it quickly returned to the cold professional stare of a banker. “I’m very sorry for your situation, but the bank cannot unilaterally unfreeze the accounts. You will have to go to the police station, provide your statement, and prove your innocence. Once your name is cleared, the freeze will be lifted immediately.”

“How long will that take?”

“It depends on the speed of the investigation. It could be a few days, or if it gets complicated, it could take several weeks.”

“Several weeks?” Emily squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother didn’t have several weeks.

It was already dark when she left the bank. The neon signs of the city were beginning to light up. It was a holiday weekend, so most shops were closed, with only convenience stores and a few restaurants casting a lonely glow. Emily stood in front of the bank feeling as if her legs were made of lead. She didn’t know what to do. Her mother’s hospital bills, her own living expenses, the frozen accounts, her husband’s police report—everything was a tangled mess choking the air from her lungs.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was a text from an unknown number.

“Is this Miss Emily Davis? This is Detective Miller with the NYPD 112th Precinct. We need you to come in for questioning regarding a report of credit card fraud filed by your husband, Kevin Davis. Please report to the station tomorrow at 10 a.m. If you have any questions, please contact me at this number.”

Emily stared at the message for a long time. Then a strange, twisted smile spread across her face. It was a bizarre smile devoid of warmth or emotion, just a mechanical movement of muscles. She opened her photo gallery and found a picture she had taken just before leaving her in-laws’ house—a photo of the wedding picture hanging on their living room wall. She and Kevin in a tuxedo and a wedding dress were smiling brightly. Looking at it now, that smile seemed utterly grotesque.

She closed the gallery and opened a notepad app. She began to type.

Divorce Settlement Agreement. Party A: Kevin Davis. Party B: Emily Davis. Both parties mutually agree to dissolve the marital relationship. Division of Assets: Party B waives all claims to any and all marital assets acquired during the marriage, including the apartment, vehicles, and savings accounts. Assumption of Debt: All debts under Party A’s name shall be the sole responsibility of Party A and shall not be transferred to Party B.

She wrote out each clause. It felt like her fingertips were making sharp clicking sounds against the screen. She had written this agreement in her mind a thousand times over. From the first time her mother-in-law had called her a barren hen. From the time the following year when she saw Kevin laughing and texting with another woman. From the third year when she found out the household money was actually coming from her own mother’s pocket. From the fourth year when she realized she was being treated as nothing more than a free maid and an ATM. And from yesterday, when she was slapped by her mother-in-law while her husband just stood there and watched.

She had always dreamed of divorce. She just never had the courage. But now she did, in a way she had never expected. After finishing the agreement, she opened a legal services app and booked a consultation with a lawyer for the next afternoon. After doing this, the tightness in her chest seemed to ease a little.

Her phone buzzed again. It was a message on a messaging app. The sender was Sarah, a woman from Kevin’s office she had met once at a company picnic.

“Emily, I don’t know if I should be saying this, but I think you should know. Kevin and our manager, Miss Roberts… I don’t think they’re just colleagues. I saw them sharing a room on a business trip last month.”

Emily read the message without any change in her expression. She already knew. Kevin never even bothered to lock his phone, and she had seen their disgusting conversations more than once. She had just pretended not to know because her mother-in-law had said, “Men need to blow off steam sometimes. As long as he comes home at night, that’s all that matters.” Because Kevin had said, “Don’t misunderstand, we’re just close because of work.” Because she had hypnotized herself: “Just endure it for the sake of the family. If I just endure it, it will all pass.”

But what had she gained by enduring? A family that wouldn’t even let her go to the hospital when her mother collapsed at a market? A husband who froze her bank accounts so she couldn’t even pay for her mother’s surgery? A reality where she was being investigated by the police as a credit card thief? She had endured for five years, and this was her reward.

Emily put her phone in her pocket and started walking toward the subway station. She had to get back to the hospital. Her mother was waiting.