I drove straight home and opened my banking app. My thumb hovered over the “Cancel Recurring Payment” button. For five years, I had been the family safety net, but they had just cut the ropes. I hit the button. The $1,500 transfer was gone.
Two weeks later, the panic set in. My mother texted me that the electricity bill had bounced. My father was driving Uber at night just to keep the fridge stocked. I almost felt guilty, until I checked Instagram.
Abigail was posting from a luxury spa. “Self-care day,” the caption read, showing a receipt for a $300 facial. The math wasn’t adding up. If she was so broke she needed my room, where was this cash coming from?
I decided to dig. I called a friend at the courthouse where Abigail’s divorce was finalized. Public records are a beautiful thing, and what I found made my blood boil. She wasn’t destitute; she was a fraud.
