Chapter 4 - A Mother’s Tears
The spilled wine spread unchecked across the linen, soaking the edges of Dad’s glossy spa blueprints. None of them moved to clean it up. The luxury of the Oak Haven Gold Room felt like a mocking caricature around them.
My mother suddenly changed tactics. In a flash of practiced theatrics, she slid off her chair and dropped to her knees right beside me, grabbing my hands in her trembling, manicured fingers.
""Vivy, please,"" she wept, real tears finally spilling over her mascara. ""Don't listen to Jason. Don't be angry with your father. You know how proud men get when their businesses struggle. Think of me! If the bank forecloses, they take our home too! The house you grew up in! The yard where you played! We’ll be ruined. All our friends at the club will know. I won't be able to show my face in this town again!""
I looked down at my mother. For years, I had craved her embrace. I had stayed up late into the night studying for exams, working myself to exhaustion, praying that one day she would wrap her arms around me and look at me the way she looked at Jason and Tyler.
Now, she was holding my hands. But she wasn't holding me because she loved me. She was holding me because she loved her country club status.
""You didn't care about showing your face in this town when you told your friends I was an ungrateful recluse,"" I said quietly, gently peeling her fingers away from my wrists. ""You told Aunt Sarah last Thanksgiving that I was selfish because I skipped your holiday dinner—after you intentionally gave me the wrong time so I would arrive two hours after dessert was finished.""
Mom froze, her mouth slightly ajar. ""How... how did you know that?""
""Because Uncle Jeffrey's wife accidentally forwarded me the original invitation email with your side notes attached,"" I said.
Uncle Jeffrey paused at the door, grimaced, and quickly slipped out into the corridor, abandoning the family to its fate.
Dad stood up, towering over the table, his hands trembling with uncontrollable rage. ""You ungrateful ingrate! After everything we gave you! We fed you! We clothed you! We gave you an education!""
""The law required you to feed and clothe me, Dad,"" I replied, standing up to meet his height. Even in my worn gray sweater and flat shoes, I stood tall, unbowed. ""You don't get an eight-figure payout for doing the bare minimum legal requirement of parenthood.""
""You think you're so smart?"" Jason spat, rising beside our father. ""You think you won? You walk out of that door, and you don't have a family anymore! You're dead to us, Vivien! Dead! You hear me? You'll be sitting on your piles of tech money completely alone in the world!""
""I've been alone for eight months, Jason,"" I said, picking up my tablet and sliding it neatly into my leather tote bag. ""And honestly? It was the most productive, peaceful eight months of my entire life.""
I pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and dropped it onto the wine-stained table.
May you like
""That should cover my share of the dinner,"" I said. ""Keep the change. You're going to need it on Friday.""
I turned on my heel and walked toward the double doors. Behind me, Dad screamed my name, Jason cursed, and my mother’s wails echoed down the opulent hallway. I didn't turn back. I walked out into the cool night air, stepped into my modest electric sedan, and drove away without shedding a single tear.
