Chapter 5 - The Reveal
"Fifteen minutes?!" Andrew exploded, suddenly finding his voice. The panic was overriding his usual desire to avoid conflict. He stepped forward, his face flushing dark red. "You can't just throw us out on the street, Claire! I live here! I have rights! You have to give me legal notice!"
"Yeah, I figured you'd try to play lawyer," I said, crossing my arms. "Technically, you're right. I'm supposed to give you a thirty-day notice. But if you refuse to leave right now, I will dial 911. I will show them the photo of the attempted assault with a deadly weapon. I will have Lorraine arrested for domestic violence. And when the police arrive, I'll be sure to tell them how my husband reacted when I showed him evidence of his mother trying to cave my skull in."
Andrew froze, looking back and forth between me and his mother.
"You wouldn't do that," Lorraine whispered, though her voice shook with terror. "You are bluffing. You would never survive the scandal in the neighborhood."
"Try me," I dared her. "I'm a paramedic, Lorraine. I deal with cops every single day. They know me. They trust me. They know I don't exaggerate. If I tell them I am in fear for my life because you violently attacked me in my sleep, you will leave this house in handcuffs. Do you think the ladies at your church will enjoy reading your mugshot in the local paper?"
Lorraine let out a strangled, pathetic sound, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked at Andrew, pleading with her eyes. "Andrew, do something! Stop her!"
But Andrew was trapped. If he fought me, his mother went to jail, and he still lost the house. If he submitted, he was homeless, but they avoided criminal charges. I watched the gears turning in his head, calculating the path of least resistance. True to form, he chose the coward's way out.
"Mom... go upstairs and get the bags," he said, his voice defeated and hollow.
"Andrew! No!" she wailed.
"Just do it, Mom!" he snapped, yelling at her for the first time in his life. The illusion of their perfect mother-son bond shattered in an instant. "She's got us! We have to go!"
Lorraine burst into loud, dramatic sobs. She turned and practically scrambled up the stairs, moving faster than I had ever seen her move in two years. Her "severe back pain" was completely absent.
Andrew turned back to me, trying one last, desperate tactic. He took a step forward, letting tears well up in his eyes. "Claire, please. Seven years. We've been married for seven years. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Can't we go to counseling? Can't we fix this?"
I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. The love I had once felt for him had evaporated, replaced by a clinical disgust.
"Seven years meant so much to you that you spent our anniversary weekend buying champagne for another man's wife at the lake house," I said evenly. "The same lake house, by the way, that I paid the down payment on. My lawyer will be contacting you on Monday to force the sale of that property so I can recoup my investment."
Andrew's jaw dropped. "You can't do that. I need a place to stay!"
"That sounds like a 'you' problem, Andrew. Maybe Jessica will let you sleep on her husband's couch."
Heavy, thudding footsteps echoed from the stairs. Lorraine was dragging two of her massive suitcases down the steps, her face streaked with mascara, muttering venomous curses under her breath. She struggled to get them out the front door, leaving deep scratch marks on the threshold. I didn't even care. I would gladly pay to refinish the floors if it meant she was gone.
Andrew slowly walked to the stairs and retrieved his single duffel bag. He slung it over his shoulder, looking like a beaten dog. He walked slowly toward the front door, pausing on the threshold. He looked back at me, standing tall and unbothered in the dining room.
"You're cold, Claire," he said bitterly. "You're a cold, heartless woman. You planned all this just to destroy us."
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"I didn't invite your mistress into your bed, and I didn't throw an iron pot at my own head," I replied calmly. "I merely diagnosed the disease. The cure is you leaving."
I walked forward and firmly shut the heavy oak door in his face.
