Chapter 4 - The Clearing of the Grounds
The front lawn looked like a battlefield of domesticity.
Jasper’s silk shirts,
his expensive watches,
and his leather shoes were scattered across the grass.
The suitcases I had packed in the middle of the night sat like tombstones near the gate.
Tabitha was hysterical,
her carefully coiffed hair falling into her eyes as she tried to gather her things.
"This is a disgrace!"
she screamed at the neighbors who had gathered at the edge of the property.
"We will sue you for every penny,
you ungrateful orphan!"
I stood on the porch,
crossing my arms,
feeling the warmth of the sun on my bruised skin.
It hurt,
but it was a clean kind of pain,
the kind that comes from a wound finally being aired out.
Jasper was being led to the sheriff’s cruiser in handcuffs,
having tried to swing at one of the attorneys.
"You're nothing without me!"
he yelled,
his voice echoing across the lake.
"You'll be alone in that big house until you rot!"
I didn't respond;
there was no need to argue with a man who was already a ghost.
The locksmith finished the final door and handed me a new set of keys,
their silver surfaces glinting with promise.
"Thank you,"
I told him,
feeling the weight of the metal in my palm.
The movers worked quickly,
clearing out the last of Jasper's presence from the hallways.
The scent of his cologne was being replaced by the smell of lemon polish and fresh air.
I watched as the sheriff’s car pulled away,
the blue and red lights fading into the distance.
Tabitha was left standing by her car,
surrounded by the ruins of her son’s ambition.
She looked at me one last time,
her eyes full of a bitter,
impotent hatred.
"You'll regret this,"
she hissed,
before climbing into her sedan and speeding away,
her tires kicking up dust.
I stood there until the dust settled,
until the only sound left was the singing of the birds in the oaks.
The neighbors eventually dispersed,
leaving me alone with my inheritance.
I walked back inside and closed the door,
locking it with a satisfying,
final thud.
I went into the dining room and looked at the half-eaten lunch.
I picked up the plate of lamb and carried it to the kitchen,
scraping the contents into the trash.
I took the fine china and placed it in the sink,
washing away the remnants of the meal they thought they had earned.
The house felt larger now,
not in a cold way,
but in a way that offered room to breathe.
I walked into the library and sat in my father's chair,
the old leather smelling of tobacco and wisdom.
I looked at the bookshelves,
the rows of stories waiting to be read,
and I realized that for the first time in years,
I was the author of my own.
The sun began to dip below the horizon,
painting the room in hues of orange and gold.
I picked up a pen and a notepad,
my hand no longer trembling.
I began to write a list,
not of chores or demands,
but of dreams I had long forgotten.
I wanted to travel.
I wanted to paint.
I wanted to fill this house with people who knew the value of a person’s soul,
not just the value of their property.
The night was coming,
but I wasn't afraid of the dark anymore.
May you like
The monsters were gone,
and the locks were changed.
