Three Properties For Them And A Death Sentence For You

My wife, Chloe, was practically vibrating with excitement as she told me. Her mother was gifting an investment property to every son-in-law. “My mom is so generous!” she beamed, her face flushed with pride. But when the meeting was held, three sets of deeds were handed out, and mine was conspicuously absent. I looked at Chloe, but she immediately avoided my gaze. “Mom must have her reasons for this, Alex. Don’t make a scene. We’ll look ridiculous.” I simply nodded. The first thing I did when we got home was cancel my mother-in-law’s reservation for that exclusive, eight-figure treatment slot at the Swiss longevity clinic. 1 The computer screen cast a cold, detached light on my face. With a light click of my finger on the mouse, a dialogue box popped up. “Are you certain you wish to cancel this booking? This is a top-tier, highly limited slot. Once canceled, restoration is not guaranteed.” I clicked confirm. The action was swift, clean, and without a trace of hesitation. A confirmation email from Zurich slid into my inbox, looking less like a receipt and more like a death warrant—only the condemned wasn’t me. I shut the laptop. The world instantly went silent. The liquid magma that had been churning in my chest for hours instantly cooled, solidified, and hardened into black obsidian. I walked into the kitchen, retrieving the broccoli and beef tenderloin I’d bought that afternoon. The water ran, washing the vegetables with mechanical precision. The knife struck the cutting board in a rhythmic thud, thud, thud. Every step was the same as it had been for the last three hundred and sixty-five days. A calculated, domestic routine. It was as if the elaborate, humiliating farce of the afternoon had never happened. The sound of the lock turning signaled Chloe’s return. Her movement as she slipped off her shoes was a beat slower than usual. When she entered the living room, her eyes deliberately skirted past me. She carried a scent of nervous guilt mixed with an eager-to-please desperation. I slid the sliced beef into the hot skillet. The oil spat a little, and the savory aroma instantly filled the air. Chloe hovered at the kitchen doorway, her voice small and careful. “Honey, you didn’t have to cook. What are you making? Smells amazing.” I didn’t turn around. “Just something simple.” My voice was flat, like a stagnant pool that refused to ripple. She awkwardly rubbed her hands together. “It really does smell great.” Dinner was set: two dishes and a soup—all her favorites. She served my plate with an unusually deferential posture. At the dinner table, the only sound was the faint clink of silverware, the silence heavy enough to choke on. Finally, she couldn’t stand it. “Alex, about this afternoon… try not to let it get to you.” I picked up a floret of broccoli and didn’t respond. “My mom, she’s older, a bit forgetful, you know? She just loves the spectacle, making everyone fuss over her.” Her voice sounded so hollow, every word a pathetic excuse for her own cowardice. “She didn’t mean anything by it, so please don’t hold it against her.” “Later, I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” Make it up? With what? Her meager bank salary? Her cheap, shaky affection? I finally swallowed the bite of food in my mouth and looked up at her. “Got it.” Just two words, but they were an ice wall, stopping every other feeble word she had planned. She stared at me, visibly startled, as if she expected hysterics, or at least a tearful interrogation. This cold, terrifying calm was new. Just then, my phone blared, shattering the peace. The name “Mom” flashed on the screen, a cruel irony. I let it ring, the sound echoing through the dining room again and again. Chloe’s face was tightening with panic. She urged, “Alex, pick up! It has to be Mom.” I slowly and methodically set down my fork and wiped my mouth with my napkin. Then, right in front of her, I answered the call. Patricia’s sharp, abrasive voice immediately spewed from the speaker. “Alex! What the hell is this! You think you can give me attitude? Who do you think you are, putting on a show for everyone! You ungrateful snake!” I remained silent, listening. My lack of response seemed to fuel her, and she ramped up the abuse. “I know you’re mad about the properties. But what right do you have to be? What have you ever done for this family? You’re a liability, a kept man who—” I didn’t let her finish. I ended the call. Immediately after, I went to her contact, selected it, and dragged it to the blocked list. The entire action was smooth and deliberate. Chloe’s eyes were wide and fixed on my screen. She jolted up, the chair scraping the floor with a harsh noise. “Alex! What are you doing! That’s my mother!” It was the first time she had ever shouted at me like this. Her face was bright red with agitation. “How could you hang up on my mom and block her number? That is so disrespectful to your elders!” I looked at her face, slightly contorted by anger, with cold indifference. “Disrespect?” I let the word hang in the air, the tail end dripping with scorn. “When everyone in your family gets a gift except me, is that respect?” “When your mother publicly humiliates me, and you don’t dare to utter a single defense, were you respecting me then?” The barrage of rhetorical questions was a series of pointed knives, slicing through her mask of feigned innocence. Chloe’s face turned instantly white. She opened her mouth, her throat working, but no words came out. After a few excruciating seconds, she finally found her voice, but her bravado had completely evaporated. “But… but that’s different. She’s my mother, she’s older… We’re family, you shouldn’t keep score…” There it was again. The same tired excuse. This woman would never learn to take responsibility, always hiding her cowardice and selfishness behind the cheap shield of “family.” I didn’t want to waste another second. I walked into my study, pulled a document from the drawer of my safe, and slammed it down onto the dining table in front of her. “Chloe, open your eyes and look closely.” She looked down and saw the bold title: PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT AND ASSET DISCLOSURE. My voice was icy, devoid of all emotion. “We’ve been married five years. The funds and stock options in my name have appreciated by seven figures. That’s a number your yearly salary wouldn’t reach if you worked for a hundred years without spending a dime.” “Your first startup failed, sinking two hundred thousand dollars. I was the one who filled that hole.” “Your father’s heart bypass last year. The best imported stent, three hundred grand. I pulled the strings to get the surgeon, and I paid the bill.” “Your mother complained about her back last year. I bought her that bespoke, German-engineered stress-relief chair. Ten thousand dollars.” “Everything in this house, everything in your lives, has been supported by my effort and my capital. Your mother says I haven’t contributed? What was all of that? Feed for the damn dogs?” Chloe’s face went from chalk-white to a sickly grey. She stared at the document, then at me, her lips trembling, as if she were seeing me for the very first time. Watching her pathetic reaction, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died out. “Chloe, I paid for you and your family because I thought you were my wife and they were my in-laws.” “Now I understand. I was never family to you. I was just an outsider, someone you could all casually humiliate and exploit.” “The game is over.” 2

First thing the next morning, my older sister-in-law, Stella, called. Her tone was hostile and commanding. “Alex, you and Chloe need to get back to the main house immediately. Mom has something to say.” She hung up without even bothering to say “brother-in-law.” I looked at the dead phone screen and a cold smile touched my lips. The family inquest had begun swiftly. Chloe was a nervous wreck beside me, her face profoundly distressed. “Alex, maybe… maybe we should just go? Mom is definitely still furious. If we just apologize, say a few sweet things, this will all blow over.” I glanced at her, said nothing, and walked into the bedroom to change. She interpreted my action as a surrender and a look of relief washed over her face as she followed me. “That’s right. Family doesn’t hold grudges. I promise, I’ll speak up for you this time.” I selected a black collared shirt—simple, but making my whole demeanor sharper, colder. The man in the mirror had eyes as keen as a knife edge. Chloe looked at me, momentarily stunned. “Alex, why… why are you dressing so formally?” I turned to face her. “I’m going to a funeral. I should be appropriately dressed.” Chloe’s face instantly crumbled. At the main house, a heavy, suffocating atmosphere hit us the moment we opened the door. The living room couch was fully occupied. My mother-in-law, Patricia, sat in the center seat, her face so dark it looked like it might drip acid. Stella and her husband, Marcus, were on one side. My younger sister-in-law, Jenna, and her husband, Scott, were on the other. The setup for the three-way inquisition was clear. As we walked in, all eyes focused on me like floodlights. Marcus spoke first, his tone oily and mocking. “Well, well, the second son-in-law decided to grace us with his presence. So busy, aren’t you? Not like us. Mom says jump, we jump.” He subtly flashed the new wristwatch on his wrist, the smugness radiating off him. Patricia had bought him the watch yesterday with some of the money from the property sale, a reward for his eager flattery. I ignored him, walking directly to the single armchair and sitting down with casual confidence. Chloe followed, looking like a scolded child, standing awkwardly beside me, afraid to sit. Patricia gave a heavy grunt and slammed her teacup down on the table, the noise jarring. “Alex Philips, you finally decided to show your face! Do you have any respect left for me!” She finally launched her attack, her voice shrill and piercing. “I called you yesterday, and you dared to hang up on me and block me! Who do you think you are! That is utterly tasteless!” I watched her performance quietly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on my lips. My serenity seemed to enrage her further. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is about! The properties! Well, let me tell you, those properties are for the contributors!” She pointed at Marcus, raising her voice. “Your older brother-in-law, he’s sweet, he talks nicely, he keeps me happy every day!” Then she pointed at Scott. “Your younger brother-in-law, he has a good, stable job, earns well. We’ll rely on him in our old age!” Finally, her finger almost jabbed my face. “And you? What have you done, Alex? Five years of marriage, you quit your job, you sit at home and do nothing! What is your contribution? Why do you deserve a property?” Her words were cruel nails, driven one by one into the heart. I felt Chloe stiffen beside me. She was desperately making silent gestures at me, her lips mouthing, “Apologize, just apologize.” I did not comply. I actually laughed out loud. My laughter was soft, yet it cut through the dead silence of the living room with chilling clarity. Everyone froze, confused as to why I was even capable of amusement. Patricia’s face was dark with fury. “What is so funny!” I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and opened my photo gallery. Then, I stood up and walked step-by-step toward her. My voice was low, but clear enough for every person in the room to hear. “Patty, you asked what my contribution is? Allow me to remind you.” “Last March, when you complained about your back, I pulled strings to get you that bespoke, German-engineered stress-relief chair from Linden & Haas. Cost: ten thousand eighty-six dollars.” The screen showed a clear receipt. “Two years ago, for Richard’s seventieth birthday, you insisted on the best hotel in the city. Twenty tables. The bill was eighty-six thousand, and I paid it.” Another bill screenshot. “Three years ago, Chloe had that fleeting idea to start a company. She was scammed, lost everything, and racked up debt. I pulled out half a million dollars of my own capital to pay off her creditors and keep the bank from seizing our home.” I paused, letting my gaze drift over Chloe’s pale, stricken face. “Four years ago, Marcus’s brother needed money for a down payment. You told Chloe to get it. She didn’t have it, so she took fifty thousand dollars from me. Marcus, you remember that, don’t you?” Marcus’s face instantly paled, his eyes flickering away from mine. My gaze returned to Patricia. Her expression had moved from rage to shock, and finally to an undisguised, sickened pallor. I leaned in slightly, speaking close to her ear, in a voice only we could hear: “Oh, and one more thing. That three hundred thousand dollar imported stent currently keeping your heart beating? If I hadn’t pulled strings to move your surgery date up from a year out to the following week, you wouldn’t be sitting here yelling at me right now.” Patricia’s body spasmed, her pupils violently contracting. I straightened up, put my phone away, and let the smile drop, replaced by an expression of cold resolution. “Patty, does that count as contribution?” The living room fell into a deathly silence. The tension was suffocating. Every face was a mask of disbelief and shock. They were so accustomed to my gentle nature and my compliance that they forgot even a rabbit would bite if cornered. Patricia’s lips were quivering. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. I didn’t want to look at their faces anymore. “Since none of you can see my contribution, I’m done making them.” “I’m tired of catering to this family. I’m out.” “Good day.” With that, I turned and walked out. The sound of my shoes striking the hardwood floor was sharp, like a march of triumph. Chloe finally reacted, scrambling to grab my arm. “Alex, Alex, don’t go! Let’s talk about this!” I shook her hand off without looking back. “Let go.” The word was quiet, but it carried an undeniable, forceful authority. She froze in place. I opened the door. The sun outside was blinding, but it tasted like a freedom I hadn’t known existed. Behind me, the Smith house was steeped in silent, shocked inertia, with Patricia’s face turning from pale to blue. 3 I half-expected Patricia to have a stroke and be hospitalized immediately. But she didn’t. Perhaps the mention of the heart stent had truly unnerved her. She simply felt dizzy, took a couple of her nitroglycerin pills, and dismissed it. In her mind, my rebellion was just a childish tantrum. If they just ignored me for a few days, and Chloe cooed at me a little, I would crawl back and apologize. She was waiting for me to come back and beg for her forgiveness. The next week passed in a tense, cold quiet. Chloe tiptoed around me every day, taking over the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning. But I remained aloof, exchanging less than ten sentences with her all week. Our house had become an icebox. Until Friday night, when Patricia called Chloe’s mobile again. I was reading in the living room, close enough to hear Patricia’s imperious commands clearly. “Chloe, ask Alex what the status is on that Swiss treatment. It’s been over a week. Why hasn’t anyone from the clinic contacted us? Tell him to hurry up, don’t drag his feet!” Chloe held the phone, her face pale, a fine sheen of cold sweat on her forehead. She stammered an answer: “Mom… Mom, I know, I’ll… I’ll ask him in a minute.” When she hung up, she slumped onto the sofa, looking like a dog whose spirit had been broken. She didn’t move for a long time. I turned a page in my book, not lifting my head. Finally, she shuffled over to me, her voice close to tears. “Honey… about Mom’s clinic slot…” I looked up, as if I had just heard her. My expression was perfectly neutral. “Oh, that.” “I canceled it.” The four words detonated like a bomb in Chloe’s ear. She sprang up from the sofa, her eyes wide as saucers, her face a picture of absolute disbelief. “C-canceled it? Why? Alex, are you out of your mind!” She rushed toward me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently.