Chapter 9 - Packing the Past
David looked back and forth between his mother and me, his chest heaving with impotent rage. He realized that fighting me tonight would only make things worse, especially with a hospital record documenting his medical neglect sitting in our daughter’s backpack.
Without another word, he turned on his heel, stormed down the hallway toward the master bedroom, and began aggressively pulling his clothes out of the closet and throwing them into a duffel bag.
Martha lingered in the doorway for a moment, her eyes narrowing into cold slits as she looked at my daughter. “You’ll regret this, young lady. You’re just like your mother—ungrateful, dramatic, and impossible to please.”
“Get out of my house, Martha,” I said quietly, stepping into the hallway.
She sniffed disdainfully, turned around, and marched out the front door, slamming it shut behind her so hard the entryway frame rattled.
Ten minutes later, David dragged his heavy duffel bag down the hall. He stopped at the front door, his hand resting on the brass knob, his face tight with bitter resentment.
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“This isn't over, Elena,” David spat. “You’ll be hearing from my attorney in the morning. And don't expect a single dime for those hospital bills.”
He pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, letting it slam shut behind him with a finality that felt like the sun rising after a five-year storm.
