Chapter 2 - Eavesdropping on a Nightmare
I pressed my ear against the warm wood of the fence. The voices were loud, confident, and completely unfamiliar to a quiet Friday afternoon at my home. I recognized my mother’s voice instantly. It boomed over the crowd, dripping with an arrogance I had never heard before. “In this house, I make the rules,” Teresa announced.
I froze. The cake box suddenly felt heavy in my hands. “I told her this morning,” my mother continued, her voice echoing in my own backyard. “Your wife is only good for giving birth and washing dishes.”
My blood ran cold. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. I thought I had walked to the wrong house. But then another voice chimed in. It was my Aunt Betsy, my mother’s sister, a woman known for her bitter gossip and sharp tongue. “You have to keep them in line, Teresa,” Betsy laughed, a cruel, scratching sound. “If you give a woman like Amy an inch, she’ll take a mile. Does Connor know you’re the one running the show?”
My heart began to hammer against my ribs. Thump. Thump. Thump. “Connor?” My mother snorted dismissively. “My son is a fool. He works hard, sure, but he’s blind.” I squeezed my eyes shut, the betrayal feeling like a physical stab to the chest. “He gives me the money every month because he trusts me to take care of this family,” she bragged loudly. “Three thousand dollars, Betsy! I handle the finances. I handle the property. I handle everything.”
“Well, you certainly threw a beautiful party,” another relative chimed in. I recognized the voice of my cousin, Mason. “This seafood spread is amazing. Where did you get the lobster?” Lobster? Seafood spread? I hadn’t authorized any of this. I hadn’t paid for a massive family gathering. I peered through a small crack in the wooden fence.
My backyard was transformed. There were at least twenty people mingling on my patio. Tents were set up. A portable bar was fully stocked with premium liquor. Tables were groaning under the weight of expensive catered food. My mother was standing in the center of it all, wearing a brand-new, expensive-looking dress that I knew cost hundreds of dollars. She had a glass of champagne in her hand, holding court like a queen in her castle. My castle. The house I worked sixty hours a week to pay the mortgage on.
“Where is Amy, anyway?” Mason asked, casually peeling a shrimp. “Shouldn’t she be out here for the kid’s birthday?” My chest tightened. Yes. Where was my wife? Where was the woman I loved? Where was my son on his first birthday? Aunt Betsy waved her hand dismissively, letting out another obnoxious cackle. “She’s in the kitchen. I told her to prepare the next course.”
“She looked a bit pale,” another aunt muttered. “Oh, let her work,” my mother snapped, her tone suddenly vicious. “A woman who is financially supported by my son should earn her place. She doesn’t contribute a dime to this household. The least she can do is serve my guests.”
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Serve her guests? My wife? In her own home? A blinding, white-hot rage erupted in my stomach. It traveled up my spine, settling in my jaw and my fists. I had spent the last year thinking my mother was a saint for helping my struggling wife. I had thanked her. I had praised her to my coworkers. But all this time, she had been using my money to fund her own lavish lifestyle, while treating the woman I loved like absolute garbage.
I didn't yell. I didn't kick the fence down. I went completely, terrifyingly calm. I carefully placed the expensive bakery cake on a small patio table outside the fence. I placed the bag with the blue dress next to it. I kept the velvet box in my pocket. Then, I reached out and silently unlatched the back gate. I didn't walk out to the patio to confront the crowd. Not yet. I slipped through the side door that led straight into the kitchen. Because right now, all that mattered was finding Amy.
