He Said I Was Greedy, I Showed Him The 500 Transfer Chapter 08

The surgery went well. 

A month later, I walked out of the hospital. 

The first recovered funds went straight into my 

personal account. 

I didn’t turn it down. 

It had always been mine. 

I paid off my medical bills, bought a small 

apartment with good light, and picked up. 

translation work again. 

The place wasn’t big. 

But the keys were mine. The passcode was mine. 

The bank cards were mine. 

I could walk out the door whenever I felt like it. 

I could eat whatever I wanted without asking 

anyone. 

Ms. Hart and her accomplices were sentenced. 

Every asset under her name was seized for 

restitution. 

At the trial, she sobbed from the stand and 

begged me for forgiveness. 

I didn’t look at her. 

The money could be recovered. 

But no one could give me back the treatment I missed, or the three years I lost. 

Callum didn’t try to bring me back. 

He released the full audit publicly and admitted that his need for control and his refusal to listen had made the whole thing possible. 

A reporter asked if he felt betrayed by his 

employee. 

He said. 

“No.” 

“My wife begged me for help, and I called it greed.“, 

“What happened to her is on me.” 

Hastings Group’s stock took a hit. 

He didn’t pull the story. Didn’t send PR to spin it. 

Later, he transferred the deed to my brother’s burial plot into my name. 

No conditions tied to the marriage. 

No restrictions of any kind. 

Just a note tucked inside the paperwork. 

[I’m sorry. I used him to keep you.] 

I burned the note. 

I kept the deed. 

Six months later, I saw Callum at my brother’s 

grave. 

He’d lost weight. 

His suit hung off his shoulders. 

White lisianthus sat in front of the headstone, and 

beside the flowers was the stack of cash he’d 

thrown into the rain. 

Every bill had been washed, dried, and pressed 

flat. 

He stood in front of the stone. 

“Your sister saved me.” 

“I hated her for five years and hurt her for three.” 

“I can’t make up for what you did for me.” 

“All I can do is stop hurting her.” 

I stayed behind a tree. I didn’t go to him. 

After he left, I walked to the headstone. 

A ring sat beneath the stack of bills. 

Not the one from our marriage. 

A note beside it. 

[This isn’t a proposal.] 

[I’m just giving the choice back to you.] 

I put the note and the ring in my bag. 

Another six months passed. I ran into Callum at 

the hospital during a checkup. 

He was signing a donation agreement for a 

patient assistance fund. 

It covered medical costs for women who couldn’t 

afford them. 

The name of the fund was the Fourteen–Dollar 

Fund. 

After my first hospital visit, I’d had fourteen dollars 

left. 

He remembered. 

He saw me. He didn’t come over. 

He stood at the far end of the hallway. 

“How’d the checkup go?” 

“Really well. I’m doing really well.” 

Something lit up in his face. 

“Good. That’s good.” 

He turned to go. He actually turned to go. 

I called after him. 

“Callum.” 

He stopped. 

“There’s a diner downstairs.” 

“I haven’t eaten.” 

He turned around. His eyes were red, but he 

wouldn’t move. 

“Can I buy you lunch?” 

“We split it.” 

“Okay.” 

At the diner, he asked what I wanted. 

“Coffee, a bagel, and two eggs.” 

He paid for his. 

I scanned mine. 

The little chime rang out. 

[Payment Approved.] 

Callum heard it and smiled, looking down at the 

table. 

“I used to think giving you money was the same as 

loving you.” 

“Then I thought taking it away would punish you.” 

“I never once asked what you actually needed.” 

I took a bite of my bagel. 

“So ask me now.” 

He looked at me. 

“What do you want?” 

“Freedom. Respect. And someone who actually 

listens when I talk.” 

“I can learn.” 

“And if you don’t?” 

“Then you walk. Whenever you want. No gates.” 

I set my empty cup down. 

“Callum, putting something broken back together 

means handling every sharp edge.” 

“If you cut yourself, that’s on you.” 

He nodded. 

“I’ll pick up every piece.” 

A year later, we got our marriage license again. 

No housekeeper. 

No household account. 

No one standing between us. 

The day we signed the papers, Callum asked what 

I wanted as a gift. 

I handed him the refund receipt for the urns. 

“Pay me back the eighty bucks first.” 

He transferred eighty dollars. 

Not a penny more. Not a penny less. 

I took the money and took his hand. 

This time, nobody had bought anyone. 

Nobody had trapped anyone. 

We were just starting over. 

And from then on, the only person who decided 

what was in my account was me.