Chapter 4 - THE COLLAPSE OF THE QUEEN
Diane didn't stay quiet for long.
As soon as the last guest's car pulled out of the driveway,
she turned on my father like a cornered animal.
"You think you're so clever,
Robert!"
she hissed,
her face contorted with malice.
"This is our house!
You have no right to be here!"
My father didn't even blink.
"The deed to this house was signed with forged signatures,
Diane."
"I have the notary's confession in this blue box as well."
"You and Mark have exactly one hour to pack your personal belongings."
Mark looked up from his hands,
his eyes red and wild.
"One hour?
You can't do that!"
"I am doing it,"
my father said.
"The police will be here in sixty minutes to escort you out."
"They will also be serving the warrants for your arrest."
Mark jumped up,
knocking over his barstool.
"I'll fight this!
I'll hire the best lawyers in the state!"
"With what money,
Mark?"
my father asked.
"The accounts have been frozen."
"The Hayes Trust is back under Emily's sole control."
"You are currently penniless."
The silence that followed was absolute.
It was the sound of a kingdom falling into the sea.
Mark looked at his mother,
searching for a way out,
but Diane was looking at the floor.
She knew the game was over.
She had spent years building a wall of lies,
and my father had just driven a bulldozer through the middle of it.
I walked over to the entryway table and picked up my purse.
I felt a strange sense of lightness,
as if the purple bruises on my face were starting to heal already.
"I'm going to get my things,
Dad,"
I said.
"Take your time,
Emily,"
my father replied.
"I'll stay here and make sure they don't 'misplace' anything else."
I walked up the stairs,
the plush carpet feeling like a foreign land under my feet.
I went into the master bedroom,
the room where I had spent so many nights shivering in fear.
I grabbed a suitcase from the closet and began to throw in my clothes.
I didn't fold them.
I didn't care about wrinkles.
I only cared about the exit.
I looked at the wedding photo on the nightstand.
Mark was smiling,
his arm around my waist,
looking like the perfect husband.
I picked it up and dropped it into the trash can by the bed.
The glass shattered,
a small,
satisfying sound.
I went into the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror.
The bruise was dark,
ugly,
and real.
It was the only honest thing Mark had ever given me.
I grabbed my jewelry box and my laptop.
I left everything else behind:
the expensive furniture,
the designer bags,
the life that had been a cage.
When I came back downstairs,
Mark was standing at the bottom of the steps.
He tried to reach out for my hand.
"Emily,
please,"
he whispered.
"I can change.
We can fix this."
I pulled away,
the touch of his skin feeling like ice.
"You didn't want to fix it this morning,
Mark."
"You wanted to teach me a lesson."
"Well,"
I said,
walking toward my father,
"I've learned it."
May you like
"The lesson is that I don't belong here."
"And neither do you."
