Chapter 4

"Chloe, can you please stop stressing Mom out?"

Brittany’s face filled up half of my iPad screen.

On Wednesday afternoon, Eleanor had sent a notification in the group chat: *8:00 PM tonight. Mandatory family video conference. Quarterly household review.*

It wasn't an "invitation." It wasn't a "family chat." It was a "conference."

At exactly 8:00 PM, the Group FaceTime connected.

Eleanor sat front and center. Behind her was the living room of Brittany's house. She had traveled over to her daughter's place specifically to use their large-screen TV as her backdrop.

The screen was split into six squares. Eleanor and Brittany squeezed into one. Uncle Robert and Aunt Sarah in another. Aunt Clara and Uncle John in the third. Cousin Ryan in his room. Brandon in his office at work. And I was in the last slot.

"Everyone is here. Let's begin." Eleanor adjusted her reading glasses and opened a leather-bound notebook.

"First, let's review the quarterly household report. I have compiled the data from the last twelve weeks."

She never called me by my name. She kept referring to me as "this wife."

"This wife’s average housekeeping score for this quarter is a C-plus. Meal compliance is at sixty-one percent. Her daily average for childcare is 4.3 hours, which is well below our target of six hours."

"As for personal spending—" She flipped the page. "Her total spending this quarter was $2,140. Out of that, $1,750 was spent on household groceries, and $390 was spent on personal items. Note: Personal items include a $38 hand cream, a $59 face wash, two hair clips totaling $12, and a $198 lipstick."

"One hundred and ninety-eight dollars," she repeated, enunciating every syllable.

Brittany immediately cut in. "$198? Chloe, why on earth do you need such an expensive lipstick? I buy drugstore dupes for $8."

Aunt Sarah muttered, "Exactly. Brandon only makes so much a month."

Aunt Clara sighed. "Young people these days just don't know how to run a home."

"Now, moving on to weight," Eleanor continued. "Her weight fluctuated by 2.4 pounds this quarter. Given her height, her target weight should be 115 pounds. She is currently 126."

Brittany gasped. "126? Chloe, you need to get a grip! My brother does not like chubby women!"

I looked at Brandon’s square on the screen.

He was looking down, playing a game on his phone. He occasionally hummed in agreement to show he was listening.

Eleanor cleared her throat.

"And now, the key focus: the restroom log summary."

Twelve weeks. Every single day. Every entry and exit from the bathroom, recorded down to the exact minute, was read aloud to the entire family.

"Her average bathroom time is 9.7 minutes. She exceeded fifteen minutes eleven times. I have reasonable grounds to suspect she is using her phone in there to do who-knows-what."

Uncle John spoke up. "Is she texting other men behind Brandon's back?"

"That’s exactly what I’m worried about," Eleanor nodded solemnly.

I couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you seriously reading my bathroom logs to the entire family?!" I snapped.

Everyone stared at me through their screens.

Brittany laughed. "Chloe, if you have nothing to hide, why are you getting so defensive?"

"I have digestive issues! Is it a crime to use the bathroom?"

"Look at your attitude," Eleanor said, removing her glasses. "I am trying to monitor your health, and this is how you react?"

"If you cared about my health, you'd take me to a doctor. You wouldn't broadcast my bathroom data to twelve people."

Brandon finally looked up from his game.

"Chloe, can you stop causing a scene? My mom is doing this out of the goodness of her heart, and you're being incredibly rude. You know exactly what you do all day."

"Do you know what *you* do all day, Brandon?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You came home at 11:00 PM last Wednesday smelling like expensive perfume and whiskey. You don't drink whiskey."

"It was a client dinner. You wouldn't understand."

"You took a half-day off work last Friday and didn't come home. Where were you?"

"Stop tracking me!" Brandon yelled. "I'm the one who brings home the paycheck. You have no right to question me."

Eleanor slammed her hand on her desk. "Stop shouting! Brandon works himself to the bone for this family, and you're sitting at home living a life of luxury, completely ungrateful!"

"Starting next week, I am adding a daily task list for you. I will email it to you every morning at 7:00 AM. By 9:00 PM, you must upload photos and videos of your completed chores. If you fail, your weekly allowance will be cut in half."

A daily task list. Mandatory photo submissions. Cutting my allowance.

This wasn't a home.

Brittany clapped happily on screen. "Mom, with your management skills, you should be a CEO."

"I was forced into this," Eleanor sighed. "If she were more responsible, would I have to resort to this?"

After the Group FaceTime disconnected, a direct message from Brandon popped up on my phone.

"You embarrassed me in front of my entire family tonight. Just you wait. If you make my mom angry one more time, I’m sending Leo to live with her. And you can pack your bags and get out."

I screenshotted his message. The timestamp was perfectly clear.

Then, I walked into the bathroom, retrieved my burner phone, and sent it to David Vance.

He replied with two words:

"Got it."

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