Chapter 9: The Ghost of the Past
Chapter 9: The Ghost of the Past
A year had passed since the wedding.
I was standing in the kitchen of our new home—a beautiful, sprawling mid-century modern house in a quiet, safe neighborhood, purchased entirely in cash with the restitution money.
The doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on a towel and walked to the front door. I checked the camera.
It was my mother.
She looked entirely different. The designer clothes were gone, replaced by a simple, off-the-rack trench coat. Her hair, usually perfectly blown out, was pulled back in a severe, graying ponytail. She looked old. She looked broken.
I opened the door, but left the chain on.
"Evelyn," she said, her voice shaking. "Please. Just five minutes."
"We have nothing to talk about, Carolyn," I said.
"Your father left me," she blurted out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "He filed for divorce. The bankruptcy... he couldn't handle it. He moved to Florida. He won't even return my calls."
I felt a brief flicker of pity, but it was quickly extinguished by the memory of her cold voice at the wedding, telling me to stop making a scene while my daughter bled.
"And Preston?" I asked.
"He calls from prison once a week. He's miserable. He says he's sorry, Evelyn. We're all sorry. I have an apartment across town. It's so small. I don't know anyone anymore." She looked up at me, desperate. "You're the only family I have left."
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"I was the only family you had left thirty years ago," I replied quietly. "But you chose the golden boy. You chose the image. You chose to protect a monster. You made your bed, Carolyn. Now sleep in it alone."
I closed the door, listening to the soft click of the lock. I heard her sob on the porch for a few minutes before her footsteps finally retreated down the driveway.
