My daughter filled three shopping carts, and when the cashier announced the total was 980 dollars, she ordered me in front of everyone, “Pay. It’s the least you can do for living with us.” I closed my wallet, said “No,” and walked away without arguing. She still didn’t know that later that night, I would stop paying for something far more important than groceries.

A cold chill ran down my spine as I remembered what that date meant.

On the fifteenth of every month, my bank account was automatically debited for the high speed internet, the electricity, and several streaming subscriptions that Clinton had asked me to set up in my name because he was always too busy.

For four years, he had promised to reimburse me for those charges, but he almost never gave me a single penny back.

I looked down at my debit card resting on the table.

If I did nothing today, they would completely drain my tiny pension account again tomorrow morning.

I immediately stood up from the table and grabbed my coat.