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Appraisal

PART TWO


I was lucky I could leave Ella with my mother during the day. As self-employed, I didn’t stay home more than two weeks after birth.


My job didn’t require much effort. I had a degree in engineering and I got frequent jobs from a firm that made appraisal reports for banks.


The dynamic of the reports amused me. The client went to the bank to finance the homes they to buy. The bank charged 3.000 from the client to pay for the engineering expenses. The bank hired a consulting firm to check if the house’s documents were legal. The consulting firm would hire an engineering company to make an appraisal report. The report itself were made by two people: the formal engineer that signed the final document and me, who visited the homes and looked for structural problems. In the end, from the 3.000, only 75 reached me.


From those 75 I needed to pay for gas and food. When I had three or four appraisals at a day, it would be good profit, but there were times when I barely made one.

With an instable income, I learned to safe.


My husband insisted I quit the job many times. He had started his own contractor firm. He insisted I didn’t need to work and I should help him, instead.


I did help him after hours, but when I pointed out he was spending more than he was earning from the constructions he said he I was a lousy engineer and should stick to my reports.


My phone rang one night after I bathed Ella. She was in a good mood and I decided to show her a few movies I had worked on my prime days. Engineering wasn’t my first choice of career, first I went to film school. Got specialized in animation and screenwriting. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find enough jobs and decided to try a more stable career.


I stopped the movie on the scene the crocodile had started playing the trumpet to answer my phone and Ella grunted in annoyance.


“Hello?”


“Good evening, is it Miss Moore?”


“Who’s speaking?” I got really upset when people didn’t introduce themselves first.


“I am Tara, one of your husband’s clients.” She sounded with little patience.


“He’s not here right now.” I was about to hang and ask her to try his phone. I had absolutely no idea how she had gotten my number, but my baby had started making noises that announced a crying fit, so I tried to get rid of the woman fast.


“He won’t answer his phone and you is my last resource before I take legal measures.” She threatened.


I am frightened of lawyers. I walked a straight line my whole life, never had a traffic bill to avoid anything that involved me and a judge. I stopped trusting our system when my father was accused of damaging a car in his mechanic shop. The accuser showed a bill to prove it was my father’s fault, even if it was dated a week after the car was fixed and the bill was of another shop. The judge turned a blind eye to the fraud and declared my father guilty.


So, of course, when Tara mentioned legal measures, I felt my knees go weak.

“What is going on?” I managed to ask, even if my lips started trembling.


She said my husband was paid to build her a house, but took the money and didn’t show up for weeks. It made no sense at first because I thought he wasn’t having many jobs lately, after all he had stayed home playing video games since I had had my baby. I believed the only income was from the appraisal reports.


I decided to confront him, but for that I needed ammunition. So, I went to his computer and searched for his clients’ numbers. I was tired, I was oh the brink of a panic attack, but luckily the baby decided to behave and sleep for a couple of hours.


Client, after client, I found the phones, the payments and the floor plans of the constructions. Visiting one by one, I found nothing but empty ground. It was like poking a bee hive. When I found one decided client, three more would come after me, demanding my husbands’ number.


I called his mother to ask where he was, after all he had been missing for nearly two days.


“He’s having a depressive crisis, honey,” she said, “he returned to us, crying and saying disconnected things. He’s locked in his room and he won’t come out. What did you do?”


I explained about the clients and I was accused of meddling in his business. A horrible wife who wasn’t supportive didn’t deserve half of the love he had for me.


When I have a problem, I usually do everything in my power to fix it. I do believe there’s always a diplomatic way out in which everyone will be content enough, or at least, will see how hard I tried.


Ella buzzed her little lips at me when I turned off the phone. Our improvised home was built at my parent’s backyard. I had a roof over my head. I had my mother to look after my baby when I was working. I didn’t need to be married to a criminal.

Yes, I saw him nothing more than a criminal at that moment.


I opened the wardrobe and put all his clothes inside a box. I had the locks changed and gave his mother’s address to everyone who came after him. I contacted a lawyer to take care of the divorce so I wouldn’t have to see his face again.


I was convinced I had made the best decision.


That night, my vitamins ran out. Ella was quietly sleeping on the mattress I had set for us both. Now my double bed was against the wall with several pillows so my baby wouldn’t roll to the side and lean on the cold bricks.


I opened the delivering app and selected the right bottle I needed. The payment was refused so I stood up to take my wallet and check if my credit card numbers were right. They were. I must have spent more than I had realized, I thought.


So, I tried debiting it straight from my account and, once again, the payment was refused.


It I was looking like the dead then I probably crumbled to ashes when I registered what had happened.


I opened the bank app and went straight to check my account.


It was wiped clean.


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