Chapter 4 - The Final Eviction
I walked back inside to find Bernice and Scott in a state of frantic mobilization.
They were no longer arguing with me;
they were arguing with each other.
Bernice was trying to shove her expensive dinnerware into a suitcase,
while Scott was screaming into his phone,
likely begging a friend for a place to stay.
"That’s my set!"
Bernice shrieked,
tugging at a porcelain bowl Scott was trying to pack.
"I need something to sell if I’m going to survive!"
Scott shoved her away,
his face twisted in a sneer that looked remarkably like his mother's.
"You’re the one who caused this!"
he yelled.
"If you hadn't thrown that stupid chicken,
we’d still have the house!"
"Oh,
so now it’s my fault?"
she countered,
her voice reaching a glass-shattering pitch.
"You’re the one who lied about the tequila!
You’re the one who’s been living off a woman’s teat for three years!"
I stood by the door,
watching the vultures tear each other apart.
It was a pathetic sight,
two people who had spent their lives pretending to be superior,
now reduced to fighting over plates and fake alcohol.
"Mr. Henderson,"
I said,
gesturing to the notary.
"Please ensure they only take what is legally theirs."
"The furniture,
the electronics,
and the art were all purchased with trust funds."
"They may take their clothes and their personal effects."
"Anything else will be considered theft."
Bernice froze,
clutching a silver candlestick to her chest.
"You wouldn't,"
she whispered.
"Try me,
Bernice,"
I replied.
"I have the receipts for everything in this house."
"I even have the receipt for that candlestick."
"It was a gift for my second anniversary,
which I paid for myself because Scott 'forgot' his wallet."
She slowly put the candlestick back on the table,
her eyes burning with a hatred that no longer had any power over me.
The movers I had called arrived shortly after,
led by a man who looked like he had seen everything.
"Pack their clothes and put them on the driveway,"
I instructed.
"And please,
be careful not to step in the tequila."
For the next two hours,
I watched as the life I had built with Scott was dismantled.
The house began to feel hollow,
echoing with the sounds of tape and dragging boxes.
Scott tried to approach me one last time,
his eyes red-rimmed and desperate.
"Caroline,
please.
Just give me the car.
How am I supposed to get to work?"
"You can take the bus,
Scott,"
I said,
handing him a twenty-dollar bill.
"Just like my father did."
"Maybe it will teach you how far three kilometers feels when you have nothing."
He took the money,
his pride finally extinguished.
He walked out the door,
carrying a single duffel bag,
not looking back at his mother or the house.
Bernice followed shortly after,
clutching her designer handbag as if it were a life raft.
She stood on the driveway,
surrounded by a mountain of suitcases,
looking lost in a world that no longer owed her anything.
"Where am I supposed to go?"
she wailed to the empty air.
"I suggest a motel in the city,"
I said,
standing in the doorway.
"I hear they have great air conditioning."
I closed the door and turned the lock.
May you like
The silence that followed was absolute.
It was finally over.
