No More Approvals From My Ex

Calvin West noticed the silence first.

It had been a full week since Id filed a single Amex Centurion expense report to the company portal. He must have assumed Id finally given up my petty habits, because he tossed the heavy black card onto the breakfast table like a bone for a stray.

Ive covered your dads next round of dialysis, Sandy, he said, not looking up from his phone. Stop bothering me with these pauper problems. I know your familys a money pit, but as a West, try to look less starved when youre feeding.

He didn't know that when I reached for that black card, I had already signed the divorce papers and the organ donation forms for my father.

The gray, pilled sweatshirt I wore was a five-year-old handout hed given me on a whim. No one would believe that Sandy West, the wife of the man who held half of Hollywood in his palm, had to photograph the receipt for a five-dollar box of tampons and submit it to his assistant for approval.

Hed always claimed that a woman like mea social climber from the wrong side of the trackswould become "spoiled and unmanageable" if she had her own money.

A week ago, my father, Robert, needed an emergency blood filtration. Id knelt, practically begged, for a simple thirty thousand. Cals indispensable executive assistant, Kendall Pricethe so-called One Who Got Awayhad intentionally reversed the wire transfer and told me, with a sweet, condescending smile, that she was helping me kick the habit of avarice.

Cal didn't know I endured this ritual of shame only because my fathers life support was tied to Cals exclusive, private clinic.

But now, theyd pulled the plug due to outstanding balances. Dad was gone. His ashes were scattered.

There was no reason for me to be his obedient, well-fed dog anymore.

...

1.

My phone vibrated.

A text from Cal popped up, dripping with the same tone of high-handed charity.

Ive reinstated your fathers treatment. Try to behave. Stop lying to nickel-and-dime me. I know people from your background struggle, but my money isnt that easy to swindle.

I stared at the two lines. The strange, cold calm inside me was a revelation.

My reply was a single, detached word: Got it.

I put the phone down and slid the signed divorce agreement across the mahogany desk.

Cal probably thought my three-day silence on expense reports was a pathetic attempt at a cold war. After all, for the last three years, I had lived like a supplicant for my fathers escalating medical bills.

I had no income. Cal had forbidden me from working, saying a West wife never clocked in. But he also refused to give me a household budget.

Every single dollar I spent had to be approved through his companys corporate expense systemConcur, or some equally bureaucratic nightmare. Groceries required approval. Tampons required approval. Even a five-dollar subway ticket required uploading a scanned receipt.

The approver was his personal secretary, Kendall Price. The woman whod been at his side since college, the one he proudly referred to as his Corporate Muse and The Only Woman I Trust.

Three days ago.

The hospital had issued a critical notice. Dad had suffered a major stroke and needed emergency surgery.

Two hundred thousand dollars. To Cal, it was the cost of a single, decent bottle of wine.

I called him, frantically. After a dozen attempts, someone finally answered.

It was Kendall.

Sandy, honey, Cals in a high-level strategy meeting. Is there something urgent?

I was beyond pride. I sobbed into the phone. Kendall, please, let me speak to Cal! My father is dyingI need two hundred thousand for emergency surgery!

Kendall chuckleda delicate, knowing sound.

Sandy, you know the rules. Two hundred thousand isn't petty cash. You have to submit it through the proper Concur process.

Cal hates rule-breakers. If you try to jump the queue, hell be furious. Just submit the ticket. I promise Ill approve it as fast as the system allows.

She hung up.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely type. I logged into that goddamn system.

Reason: Fathers Emergency Surgery.

Amount: $200,000.

Attachment: Critical Condition Notice.

Submit.

I watched the screen. One second, two seconds.

Ten minutes later.

The phone buzzed. It wasn't a transfer notification. It was a Concur rejection email.

Rejected by: Kendall Price.

Reason for Rejection: Attachment format is blurry. Please rescan and upload a high-resolution image.

The blood drained from my head.

2.

I reshot the photo. My hands were shaking, so it was a little fuzzy. I took another one.

Every second was a life lost.

I submitted again.

Five minutes later.

Rejected.

Reason for Rejection: Amount too large. Requires a detailed line-item expenditure breakdown, precise down to the unit price of each medication.

I lost it.

The surgery hadn't even started; the doctors were just trying to stabilize him. Where was I supposed to get a price list down to the milligram?

Please, for Gods sake, approve the money first! Its life-saving cash!

Ill file the details later, Kendall, please! Its a human life!

Kendall replied with a cute, laughing emoji.

Sister, its not that I dont want to help. But the CFO rules are the CFO rules. I have to manage expectations. Youre just too chaotic. You cant bring poor-people habits into a luxury lifestyle, can you? Cal said he needed me to help you set boundaries.

I stood outside the operating room, clutching my phone.

I felt like a beaten mutt whose spine had been removed.

I texted Cal. I sent voicemails.

Cal West, Im begging you.

Just send the money, and I will do whatever you say. I wont fight you anymore. I wont be jealous of Kendall. Please, save my father.

Thirty minutes later.

Cal finally replied with a brief voice note. The background was loud and brassy; his voice was slurred with slight intoxication and deep annoyance.

Just do what Kendall tells you. Stop bothering me.

In that moment.

The surgery light turned off.

The doctor emerged, pulling down his mask, and shook his head with a deep, weary regret.

Im sorry. If we could have administered the medication even ten minutes earlier

I didn't hear the rest. The world went silent.

The man who had raised me through sheer grit, whod sacrificed everything to put me through graduate school.

He died in this glittering, indifferent city.

Because of a Goddamn expense report format error.

His body grew cold. My love for Cal West went cold right along with it.

For three days.

I handled the funeral. The cremation. The scattering of the ashes.

I never told Cal. There was no need.

He was so afraid I would swindle him out of his money.

From now on, I would never ask him for a dime.

I looked at the patronizing text hed just sent me. A slow, chilling smile spread across my face.

He thought I was playing games for attention.

He didn't know I was offering him the last shred of dignity.

A notification flashed on my screen. A red dot on Instagram.

It was Kendall. The photo was high-end omakase sushi, and a mans handCals handwearing the custom Patek Philippe watch Id once saved for two years to buy him.

The caption: Thanks to the boss for the excellent meal. Some people only know how to beg for money. So tasteless.

I tapped the Like button.

Truly. It was the first time Id ever liked one of Kendalls posts.

The phone rang immediately. Cal. He must have seen the Like and thought I was being passive-aggressive.

I didn't answer.

Another text came through: Sandy, who are you trying to shade? Dont let people misunderstand Kendall. Shes just being professional. Delete that like immediately or Im shutting off your access to the accounts.

Professional? Professionally murderous?

I laughed.

I went back to the post and left a comment.

A toast to the secretary who climbed her way to the top by rejecting the bosss wifes life-or-death emergency fund. I hope you two soulless vultures lock it up forever. Thieves deserve each other.

Send.

Block.

Power Off.

The world was finally, blessedly quiet.

3.

I started packing.

There wasn't much to pack. I had lived in this so-called home for three years. My possessions were pathetic.

The walk-in closet was enormous. The left side was Cals custom-tailored Italian suits. The right side was several locked cabinets. Thats where the jewelry and the designer bags lived.

The keys and the biometric access were all controlled by Kendall.

Every time I attended a gala, I had to request the accessories from Kendall as if I were borrowing props for a movie. When I was done, I had to return everything immediately.

Once, I accidentally snagged the hem of a designer dress. Kendall made me write a three-thousand-word essay on financial responsibility in front of the housekeeper. She also docked my allowance for the following month.

Cal just watched, commenting mildly, Kendall is helping you learn a lesson. These things are expensive. You cant afford to replace them.

He was right. I couldnt afford it. I was an orphan, a bottom-feeder in their lexicon.

I opened the tiny corner that was mine. A few pilled sweaters. Several pairs of faded jeans.

The only thing that mattered was the crisp white T-shirt Id worn three years ago, when I first got married.

Back then, I wasn't Sandy West.

I was the youngest Physics Ph.D. candidate at State, a brilliant student with a limitless future.

Cal had said he loved my quiet brilliance. Hed promised, Sandy, marry me, and Ill give you a real home.

I believed him. I gave up a scholarship abroad. I ignored my professors pleas. I devoted myself to being a trophy wife, trapping myself in a gilded cage and becoming a joke.

I stripped off the sweatshirt he hated. I put on the slightly yellowed white T-shirt.

The jeans were a little loose. I had lost nearly twenty pounds in three years.

I dragged out a battered, worn-out suitcase. I put in my few books, a couple of photos, and my fathers small, black wooden urn.

That was all.

Everything else in this mansion was utterly meaningless to me.

I walked downstairs. Mrs. Petrov, the housekeeper, was polishing a vase. She rolled her eyes when she saw my suitcase.

Trouble again, Mrs. West? The Master said if you walk out this time, dont even think about coming back.

Also, Mr. West wants his bouillabaisse for dinner. Dont forget to make it.

Even the help looked down on me. They knew I, the mistress of the house, didnt even have the authority to sign their paychecks. My allowance was less than their salary.

I stopped and looked at Mrs. Petrov.

Make your own damn soup.

Or better yet, ask Kendall to do it.

Mrs. Petrov froze, unused to my tone. What is your attitude? Ill tell the Master

Be my guest.

I pulled the suitcase and walked out the front door without a backward glance.

The sun was blinding. I shielded my eyes.

Three years.

I had finally walked out of this tomb.

4.

Cal returned faster than I expected. My comment must have infuriated him.

He wasnt there to placate me. He was there to defend his corporate darling.

I was struggling to get a taxi outside the estate gates when a black Maybach screeched to a halt in front of me.

The door flew open. Cal stepped out, his face a mask of cold fury.

Kendall followed, her eyes red, the picture of a woman deeply wronged.

Sandy, what the hell is wrong with you?

Cal grabbed my wrist.

Apologize to Kendallnow!

What kind of insane lies are you spreading? What good does slandering her name do for you?

I looked at the face that had once made my heart race. Now, I felt only disgust.

Lies?

I yanked my hand free and looked pointedly at Kendall.

Does the Secretary know the truth?

Three days ago, my father was on an operating table waiting for money.

Secretary Price rejected my application because of incorrect format and excessive amount.

Did the CEO know that detail?

Cal paused. He clearly hadn't known the specifics. He only knew I asked for money, and Kendall said it wasn't by the book.

He looked at Kendall instinctively.

Kendall visibly trembled. The tears arrived instantly.

Cal I didnt mean to

I was just following the companys financial guidelines. And and Sandy was so aggressive, I didnt realize it was life-or-death money

Besides, I told the finance department to prepare the transfer later! Sandy just never resubmitted the form!

What a silver tongue. What a beautiful never resubmitted.

Was I supposed to submit it to the Grim Reaper?

Cal frowned deeper, turning to me with a look of utter disappointment.

Sandy, you constantly let me down.

Kendall was just doing her job. Why are you being so malicious?

Your dad was just sick, right? It wasn't that serious. Youre defaming Kendall online just for this amount of money? Where is your dignity?

Dignity? Talking about dignity to a murderer?

I laughed without humor.

Cal West, you are terminally blind.

If you trust her that much, theres nothing more to say.

The divorce papers are on your study desk. Sign them.

I started to walk, pulling my suitcase.

My attitude enraged him. He grabbed the suitcase and slammed it on the ground.

The old zipper snapped. My pathetic few belongings spilled out.

A few threadbare shirts, a couple of books.

And a small, black wooden box.

The urn rolled a few times, stopping at Cals feet.

Cal froze. He stared at the box, his pupils constricting violently.

What what is this?

I bent down, carefully retrieved the urn, and wiped the dust off the surface.

This is my dad.

Cal West, are you satisfied now?

5.

Cal stood rigid. His eyes darted between the urn and my face, struggling to process the image.

D-dead?

His voice was dry. How is that possible? He was fine three days ago

Yes. He was fine three days ago.

I looked at him calmly. If that two hundred thousand had arrived promptly, he would be recovering in the ICU right now.

But alas, Secretary Price found the format incorrect.

And alas, CEO West assumed I was trying to swindle him.

The air thickened to a solid mass.

Kendalls face was ashen. She instinctively moved to hide behind Cal.

Cal, I truly didnt know I thought she was making excuses to buy a new designer bag again

Cal took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure and control.

Why didnt you just come directly to me for something this critical? he demanded.

If you had just asked me properly, I wouldnt have said no! You insisted on using Concur, you chose to spite Kendall, Sandyyou caused the delay!

Ah.

That was Cal West. The man who was never wrong.

Even with a corpse at his feet, he could find a way to shift the blame to me.

I didn't have the energy to argue anymore. It was exhausting.

Youre right. It was all my fault.

I nodded. So, Im leaving. I wont pollute your sight anymore.

Give me my suitcase.

But Cal planted his foot firmly on the clothing scattered on the ground. It was the faded white T-shirt.

Leave? Where do you think youre going?

Dont think using a dead person as leverage will make me forgive you. Get back inside!

He reached for me.

I sidestepped his touch, grabbed his arm instead, and hauled him toward the villa.

What are you doing? Let go! Cal roared.

I ignored him, dragging him all the way up the stairs and into the master closet.

Kendall scrambled behind us, panicking. Sandy, please, dont do anything crazy

I pointed to the huge wall safe. Open it, Kendall.

Kendall hesitated.

I picked up a nearby golf club.

I said, open it.

The club crashed against the safe door with a deafening CRACK.

Cal was stunned. Hed never seen me lose control like this.

Sandy, are you insane!

Are you opening it or not? I glared at Kendall.

Terrified, Kendall pressed her thumb to the scanner.

Beep.

The safe door swung open.

It was packed with dazzling diamonds, Herms bags, and limited-edition watches.

Cal scoffed, regaining his arrogance. See? Have I not been good to you? Every single item in here is worth millions!

Good to me?

I laughed. I dropped the golf club and pulled a thick wad of printed documents from my pocket.

I slapped them hard across Cals face.

The papers drifted down like snow.