Chapter 7 - The Knock at the Door
Evelyn’s apartment in the north side of Chicago was modest, filled with shelves of books, potted plants, and colorful drawings made by Sophie.
Sophie sat at the dining room table, her head wrapped in a neat, clean bandage, happily coloring a picture of a golden retriever while munching on apple slices. The physical wound was healing, and the nightmares were slowly starting to fade thanks to the comforting presence of her mother and the gentle support of Detective Marcus Vance, who had dropped by twice to check on her with small coloring books in hand.
Knock. Knock.
Evelyn paused, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She walked to the front door and peered through the peephole.
Standing on her welcome mat was Margaret.
The matriarch of the Miller family looked like a ghost of her former self. Her designer coat was rumpled, her hair unstyled, and her hands trembled as she clutched a leather handbag against her chest.
Evelyn slowly unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open halfway, leaving the chain guard latched.
"What do you want, Margaret?" Evelyn asked, her voice entirely devoid of warmth.
Margaret stared at her daughter, tears finally spilling over her eyelids. "Evelyn... please. Can I come in? Just for five minutes?"
"You can talk from out there," Evelyn replied coldly.
Margaret swallowed hard, her voice breaking. "I know... I know we failed you. I know what Preston did was unforgivable. But he’s your brother, Evelyn. He’s facing ten years in prison. The family name is destroyed. Please... can’t you drop the charges? Can't you tell the DA it was all a terrible misunderstanding?"
Evelyn stared at her mother with a mixture of pity and utter disbelief. Even now—even after a national scandal, a viral video, a shattered family empire, and an injured granddaughter—Margaret’s only concern was protecting her precious golden son.
"Let me get this straight," Evelyn said, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Your son cracked an eight-year-old child over the head with an oak board, framed her for theft, lied to the police, and tried to ruin her life before it even started... and you came here to ask me to save him?"
"He's your blood!" Margaret cried, pressing her face against the crack of the door.
"My blood is sitting at that kitchen table coloring a picture," Evelyn said fiercely. "And the only blood your son cares about is his own. Get off my porch, Margaret. And if you ever come near my daughter again, I won't just let the law handle your family—I’ll finish the job myself."
Evelyn slammed the door shut, throwing both deadbolts into place.
From the kitchen, Sophie called out softly, "Mommy? Who was at the door?"
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Evelyn walked back into the kitchen, a soft, genuine smile replacing the cold mask on her face. She knelt down beside her daughter, wrapping her arms around her waist.
"Nobody important, baby," Evelyn whispered, kissing Sophie’s cheek. "Just someone selling old news."
