Ethan walked in, but he wasn’t alone. Trailing closely behind him was his mother, Linda.
Linda was a brazen, aggressive woman in her sixties who operated on a sociopathic level of entitlement. She viewed her two sons as flawless royalty and viewed me not as a daughter-in-law, but as an unfortunate, temporary accessory—until today. Today, I was an ATM.
They didn’t ask how the meeting went. They didn’t ask how I was feeling. They didn’t offer a hug.
They marched directly into the living room, their eyes practically vibrating with a greedy, feverish anticipation.
“Well?” Linda demanded, dropping her designer purse onto the armchair, her voice carrying the arrogant authority of a landlord collecting a late rent check. “Is it done? Is the money cleared?”
I tightened my grip on the manila folder, my heart beginning to hammer a slow, dark rhythm against my ribs. “Yes. The probate is officially closed.”
Ethan let out a loud, theatrical sigh of relief, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He walked over to me, offering a gentle, sickeningly patronizing smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
“That’s wonderful news, babe. What a relief,” Ethan said smoothly. He spoke with the casual, breezy tone of a man discussing dinner plans, entirely disconnected from the profound emotional gravity of the moment. “Sweetheart, Mom and I were talking this morning. We decided that the seven million will go toward Ryan’s debts.”
The room went completely, utterly silent. The air seemed to drop ten degrees.
