I slept better that night than I had in years.

No arguments.

No gaming sounds blasting from the living room at two in the morning.

No complaints about dinner.

Just silence.

When I woke up the next morning, my phone showed thirty-six missed calls.

Twenty-nine from Daniel.

Seven from unknown numbers.

I made coffee, fed my cat, and opened the curtains.

The sun poured into the apartment.

It suddenly felt larger.

Lighter.

At exactly 8:42 a.m., another message arrived.

Daniel:
“My gas card was declined.”

A minute later.

“My lunch payment failed too.”

Then another.

“Can you stop acting childish?”

I sipped my coffee before replying.

“I’m simply respecting your decision.”

Three dots appeared immediately.

“What does that mean?”

“You said we weren’t compatible.”

“Compatible people don’t finance each other’s lives after breaking up.”

No response.

Instead, he called again.

I declined it.

Five minutes later, someone knocked on my apartment door.

I checked the security camera.

Daniel.

Still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

His hair was messy, and for the first time in years, he looked genuinely nervous.

I opened the intercom.

“What do you want?”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“Clara, stop making a scene.”

I almost laughed.

“A scene?”

“You canceled everything.”

“Yes.”

“You embarrassed me.”

I folded my arms.

“How?”

“My card was declined in front of my coworkers.”

“And?”

“They all saw it.”

I looked straight into the camera.

“I carried your expenses for three years.”

“You survived one morning.”

Silence.

Then his tone softened.

“Come on…”

“I was angry yesterday.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

I smiled.

There it was.

Not an apology.

A strategy.

“You don’t love me anymore, remember?”

“I…”

“You were very certain last night.”

Another long pause.

Finally he sighed.

“I just need a little time.”

“For what?”

“Until I get my finances sorted out.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

The sound echoed through the apartment.

“So that’s what this is about.”

“What?”

“You don’t miss me.”

“You miss my bank account.”

His face stiffened.

“That’s unfair.”

“Really?”

I picked up my phone.

“I spent the morning reviewing our financial records.”

“I have every transfer.”

“Every subscription.”

“Every restaurant bill.”

“Every shopping payment.”

“I even know you spent ¥2,200 at a bar last month while telling me you couldn’t afford groceries.”

His expression changed instantly.

“How did you…”

“My accounts paid for them.”

He looked away.

Then his phone rang.

He answered immediately.

“Hello?”

His confident expression disappeared.

“What do you mean the payment bounced?”

Another pause.

“No, try the other card.”

More silence.

His shoulders slowly slumped.

“I’ll figure something out.”

He hung up.

I already knew what had happened.

The furniture store.

Three months earlier, Daniel had ordered an expensive gaming chair.

Twelve monthly installments.

The automatic payment came from…

My account.

Yesterday I had canceled it.

Which meant today’s payment had failed.

That was only the beginning.

His phone rang again.

Then again.

Gym.

Cloud storage.

Streaming service.

Insurance.

Every automatic payment I’d canceled was now looking for money that no longer existed.

He looked back at my camera.

“You could’ve warned me.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“At 8:14 yesterday evening.”

“I said your expenses were no longer my responsibility.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

For once…

He had no argument.

Just then, another car pulled into the parking lot.

A young woman stepped out.

Tall.

Fashionably dressed.

I recognized her immediately.

Emily.

The coworker Daniel had insisted was “just a friend.”

She walked toward him with obvious irritation.

“Daniel.”

“What?”

“My payment for the concert tickets failed.”

He froze.

She lowered her voice, unaware my intercom microphone could hear every word.

“I thought you said your girlfriend handled everything.”

His face turned bright red.

“She used to.”

Emily frowned.

“What do you mean ‘used to’?”

He didn’t answer.

She stared at him for several seconds.

Then she laughed.

“Wait…”

“You actually dumped the woman who paid your bills?”

Daniel tried to interrupt.

“It’s not like that.”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“I thought you were successful.”

“I am.”

“Then why couldn’t you even pay for your own tickets?”

Without another word, she turned around, got back into her car, and drove away.

Daniel stood there alone.

For almost a full minute.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message from him.

“Can we please talk?”

I looked at the total I had calculated the night before.

¥387,420.

Three years.

Three hundred eighty-seven thousand four hundred twenty yuan.

I took another screenshot.

This time, I sent him something else.

An Excel file.

Every expense.

Every transfer.

Every canceled payment.

Every date.

At the bottom, I added a single sentence.

“You didn’t lose your girlfriend yesterday.”

“You lost the woman who quietly financed the life you pretended you built yourself.”