Chapter 5 - An Uninvited Feast
The smell of roast beef and rosemary potatoes wafted in from the dining room, but the atmosphere inside the house was as tense as a funeral parlor.
Arthur Reynolds stood up from his armchair, using his cane to steady his trembling legs. He walked slowly across the expanse of the room until he stood directly in front of the four children. He looked down at them—his eyes tracing Noah’s broad forehead, Ethan’s posture, Sophia’s bright eyes, and Olivia’s thoughtful gaze.
Slowly, painfully, the proud old patriarch dropped down to one knee on the hardwood floor.
"Grandpa?" Olivia whispered, tilting her head.
Arthur let out a shuddering breath, a tear escaping his weathered eye and running down through the deep creases of his cheek. "I am so sorry. For eight years, I thought I was an old man with nothing left to leave behind. I let a coward's lies rob me of every single day of your childhood."
Noah looked at his brother and sisters, then stepped forward, reaching out a small hand to touch the old man’s sleeve. "It’s okay, Grandpa. Mom said we shouldn't hate people who didn't know better. She said hate takes up too much memory on your hard drive."
A broken laugh escaped Arthur’s chest as he wiped his face with a linen handkerchief. "Your mother is a much better engineer of the human heart than anyone in this house."
He looked up at me, his eyes pleading. "Hannah... please. Stay for dinner. Not for Marcus. Never for Marcus again. But for Patricia and me. Let us sit at a table with our family for just one meal before we lose you forever."
I looked down at my children. Noah looked hungry; Ethan was eyeing the bread rolls on the sideboard; Sophia was smiling shyly at Arthur; and Olivia was holding my coat tightly.
"We will stay for dinner," I said quietly. "On one condition."
Marcus looked up, a glimmer of desperate hope flickering in his eyes. "Anything, Hannah. Whatever you want."
"You don't sit at the table, Marcus," I said coldly. "You pack a bag, you get in your car, and you leave this property until we are gone. You wanted a life without children. You wanted a life without me. Today, you get to live in that empty world completely."
Patricia Reynolds looked up, her face pale, but she didn't utter a word in defense of her only son. For the first time in his life, his mother was looking through him as if he were made of cheap, transparent glass.
"Marcus," Arthur commanded without turning his head. "You heard her. Get out of my sight."
"Dad! This is Christmas!" Marcus yelled, his face turning an ugly shade of magenta. "You're kicking me out of my childhood home on Christmas Day for an ex-wife who hasn't spoken to us in a decade?!"
"She hasn't spoken to us because you poisoned our ears with deceit!" Arthur roared, slamming his ebony cane against the floor with enough force to make the crystal chandelier vibrate overhead. "Every penny you have ever touched was built on the reputation of the Reynolds name! And you have dragged it through the sewer! Take your things and leave before I call the sheriff to escort you off my land!"
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For ten agonizing seconds, Marcus looked around the room. He looked at his mother, who turned her back to look out the snowy window. He looked at his father, whose jaw was set like granite. He looked at the four children who carried his face, his eyes, and his blood, but possessed not a single ounce of his corruption.
Without another word, Marcus grabbed his wool overcoat from the rack, snatched his car keys from the side table, and stormed out the side door into the biting mountain wind. The sound of his sports car’s engine roared to life in the driveway, tires spinning on the slick ice, before fading away down the long, winding canyon road.
