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I dive into my phone in relief.

I desperately need this so that I can start applying for new jobs.

I poke the black box, not trusting it.

Eventually, I give in and pull the lid off, only to find a brand new iPhone. The latest model. There is a folded piece of paper in the box with a handwritten note scribbled in messy boy-writing.

Lara,

Your phone belongs in the stone ages. Please accept this as a gesture of reassurance. Welcome to your new home.

Nestor.

A brand new phone.

I’ve needed a new phone for about eight years already. The one in my hand is the only phone I’ve ever had. I’ve never been able to afford to upgrade, and the damn thing has a battery that lasts no more than an hour.

Tears sting my eyes at his kind gesture, but I blink them away. I’m scared to fall for it in case it’s another manipulation tactic. I can’t focus on his kindness. I need to focus on finding a job and sorting my life out.

***

It takes me a full day to figure out how to move all my information from my old phone to the new one.

It’s late at night, and I’m lying in bed, finishing everything up. Yesterday, I also sent off a few job applications, and I want to get access to my email to see if anyone responded.

Except when I open my inbox, the first thing that pops up is an email titled ‘Statement: Mrs. Abakumov / Dr. N. Binder.’

Dammit. I was hoping they were going to leave me alone until the end of the month.

Reluctantly, I click on it; I may as well get the reminder over with and make a note of the total I owe. I’ll need a new notebook to start tracking the debts in.

But when it opens up on my screen, I am convinced there is a mistake.

Total owed: $0.00

It can’t be.

I quickly scroll up and zoom in on the statement section, and sure enough, a massive lump sum was paid to the account just yesterday.

Nestor didn’t even ask me for the details of this account. How did he get access to the outstanding amount?

My hands start to shake with confusion and adrenaline.

I quickly scroll to my messaging app, and with nausea in my stomach, I type out a message that I send to every single one of the debt collectors. I hate contacting them. But I need to know.

Please confirm the total amount owed as of today.

The same message goes out to over eight numbers, and I stare at my phone, dreading the replies that are going to start pouring in. Threats and nasty things.

But one by one, the answers come in, and every single one of them is the same.

Zero.

Debt cleared.

Nothing.

He did it.