Chapter 3
We didn’t sleep that night.
James sat on the couch in the dark until 3 a.m., staring at the wall. I sat beside him, holding his hand, not saying a word. What could I say? The woman who’d given him life had just tried to destroy his entire family for money. There was no fix for that kind of pain.
Upstairs, the girls slept in the same bed. Mia had crawled in with Lily an hour after we got home, holding her while she cried until she passed out. I’d checked on them twice. Lily’s hand was fisted in Mia’s shirt, her face still puffy.
The next morning, James called in sick to work. I did the same. We made pancakes, the chocolate chip kind the girls loved, but no one ate more than a bite.
Lily wouldn’t talk about the spelling bee. When I tried to ask her if she wanted to tape the certificate back together, she just shook her head and ran to her room, slamming the door.
Mia was quiet, too. She picked at her pancakes, staring at her phone. When I asked her if she was okay, she just nodded and mumbled something about homework.
By noon, James had gone through three cups of coffee. He was pacing the kitchen, running his hands through his hair.
“I should have seen it,” he said, for the tenth time that morning. “All those comments about you being too soft on the kids. All those times she’d call me right after a fight we had, telling me I deserved better. I thought she was just being a mom. I thought you were overreacting.”
He stopped pacing, looking at me. His eyes were red, raw.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I let her hurt all of you. I let her get away with it for years.”
I walked over and put my arms around him. He held me so tight I could barely breathe, like he was scared I’d disappear if he let go.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “She’s your mom. You wanted to believe the best of her. That’s not a flaw. That’s love.”
“But it wasn’t love,” he said, his voice breaking. “It was never love.”
That afternoon, the first text came.
It was from an unknown number.
You’ll pay for turning my son against me.
I showed it to James. His face went hard. He blocked the number and called the police, but they said there was nothing they could do yet. One text wasn’t enough for a restraining order. We needed a pattern.
The texts kept coming.
Every hour, on the hour, for the next three days.
Ungrateful brats.
I’ll take those girls from you. You’re unfit parents.
James will come back to me. He always does.
I changed my number. James changed his. We put security cameras up around the house, a new alarm system, deadbolts on every door. We told the girls’ schools to not let anyone but us pick them up, to call us immediately if Margaret showed up.
Lily started having nightmares. She’d wake up screaming, crying that Grammy was going to come take her away, that she’d rip up all her awards, all her drawings, everything she loved. I’d hold her until she fell back asleep, my own heart breaking.
Mia stopped going to her after-school art club. She said she didn’t feel like it, but I knew the truth. She was scared to be anywhere Margaret could find her alone. She started carrying a small can of pepper spray in her backpack, the legal kind for teens. I didn’t stop her.
A week after the dinner, James went to Margaret’s house alone. He didn’t tell me he was going until he was already in the car. I waited up, pacing the living room, my stomach in knots.
He came back two hours later, his knuckles scraped raw, his face like thunder.
“What happened?” I said, running to him.
“She was there,” he said, his voice tight. “With her book club. Telling all her friends we’re abusing the girls. That we brainwashed Mia into making that recording. That we stole her inheritance.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“I told her if she ever said another word about us, if she ever came near the girls again, I’d press every charge I could think of. She laughed. Said I didn’t have the guts.”
He looked at me, his eyes hard with a resolve I’d never seen before.
“I’m done being scared of her,” he said. “I’m done letting her hurt my family. Whatever it takes, I’m going to make this right.”
May you like
I held him, and for the first time since that Sunday, I let myself believe him.
But I also knew Margaret. She didn’t give up easy. And she had nothing left to lose.
