Chapter 2 - The Morning After the Fall
The sun rose over Manhattan with a blinding, winter-white glare that reflected off the glass facades of Midtown. I sat at the mahogany desk by the window, a cup of hotel-blend coffee cooling beside my laptop, scrolling through a flurry of encrypted emails from David.
The eviction had gone faster than anticipated. Once the deputies cited the corporate default clauses, Patricia and Richard had realized there were no loopholes left to exploit. Too proud to call friends at midnight, and with Natalie’s apartment in Chicago already padlocked by creditors, they had spent the night crammed into Terrence’s aging sedan parked awkwardly on the shoulder of the interstate, waiting for the sun to rise.
My phone buzzed against the wood. An unknown number.
I ignored it. It buzzed again immediately.
When I swiped to answer, my mother’s voice shrieked through the speaker with a force that made me pull the phone an inch from my ear.
"Nicole! Where are you? Answer me right now!" Patricia sounded hysterical, her voice ragged and stripped of its usual Sunday-brunch elegance. "We have been sitting in a freezing car for twelve hours! Your father’s blood pressure is through the roof, and Natalie is beside herself! What kind of sick, vindictive game are you playing?"
I took a slow breath, keeping my voice level. "Good morning, Mother."
"Don't 'good morning' me, you ungrateful little—" She choked on her own fury, a wet, rattling sound of pure disbelief. "David showed up last night with armed deputies! He threw us out into the snow! On Thanksgiving! Do you have any idea what the neighbors across the street saw? The entire cul-de-sac was watching!"
"Yes," I said quietly. "I watched from my laptop. The camera angle from the porch is quite clear."
A stunned silence fell over the line. For three long seconds, the only sound was Patricia’s ragged breathing and the faint, muffled hum of Terrence cursing at the dashboard heater in the background.
"You..." Patricia whispered, the word trembling with a terrifying realization. "You bought the house? You?"
"Not me," I corrected her softly. "My holding company. Founded four years ago, right around the time you told me that raising a child alone made me a liability to the family name. I suppose I had to find a way to secure my own retirement plan."
"You lied to us!" Richard’s voice suddenly bellowed in the background, snatching the phone from Patricia. His voice was thick with venom. "You manipulated us! You let us live in our own home while you played slumlord in the shadows? I raised you! I put food on your table!"
"You put me out on the street last night, Dad," I replied, my voice dropping into a register that brook no argument. "You and Patricia and Natalie made it very clear how disposable I am. Well, congratulations. You’re finally experiencing what it feels like to be discarded."
"We are your family!" Richard roared.
"Families don't leave four-year-olds in a snowstorm," I said.
Before he could answer, I hung up and blocked the number.
My hands were shaking slightly as I set the phone down. I turned around to check on Leo, but the bed was empty. The bathroom door clicked open, and my son padded out wearing oversized hotel slippers that swallowed his feet, holding a half-eaten blueberry muffin he’d found on the breakfast tray.
"Mommy, can we go to the park?" Leo asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "It’s snowing outside."
May you like
I smiled, a heavy knot loosening in my chest, and pulled him into my lap. "We can go anywhere you want, buddy. Absolutely anywhere."
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