Chapter 18
With the inheritance officially secured and the suburban house fully under my name,
I decided it was time to cleanse my environment completely.
I hired a professional moving company to pack up every single piece of furniture that reminded me of my past with Scott,
donating most of it to a local women's shelter.
I kept only my personal books,
my clothing,
and a few sentimental items that brought me genuine joy.
The empty rooms of the large house felt light and airy,
no longer haunted by the whispered arguments and cold silences of a dying marriage.
On a sunny Tuesday afternoon,
as I was supervising a team of painters who were transforming the dark living room into a bright,
cream-colored sanctuary,
my phone rang.
It was an unknown number,
but I decided to answer it anyway,
expecting a call from the interior design boutique I had visited earlier.
"Avery...
please don't hang up,"
a weak,
shattered voice pleaded through the speaker,
and I instantly recognized it as Scott's mother,
Eleanor.
Eleanor had always been a cold,
haughty woman who looked down on my middle-class background,
constantly making passive-aggressive remarks about my family.
But today,
her usual aristocratic confidence was entirely missing,
replaced by a desperate,
shattered tone.
"Eleanor,"
I replied calmly,
stepping out onto the back patio to escape the noise of the painters,
"what can I do for you?"
"Avery,
it's about Scott,"
she sobbed,
her voice trembling violently over the line.
"The bank is threatening to foreclose on his personal assets,"
she revealed,
"and he is facing potential fraud charges for those bridge loans!"
"His father and I tried to help him,"
she admitted,
"but his debts are far too massive,
and we cannot risk our own retirement funds to save him."
"He is sleeping on a friend's couch right now,
Avery,"
she cried,
"he is completely devastated,
he has lost weight,
and he is a emotional wreck."
"I know he did a terrible thing to you,"
she pleaded,
"but surely you can find it in your heart to show some mercy?"
"You have seven million dollars now,"
she pointed out,
a hint of her old demanding nature creeping back into her tone,
"surely you can spare a few hundred thousand to clear his debts?"
"After all,
he is still Margaret's grandson,"
she argued,
"and she would not want to see him on the streets."
I let out a soft,
dry chuckle,
marveling at the sheer entitlement of the Henderson family.
"Eleanor,"
I spoke,
my voice as cold and smooth as ice,
"Margaret knew exactly what she was doing when she wrote her will."
"She didn't want her money to save Scott from his own mistakes,"
I explained,
"she wanted to punish him for his deceit."
"He spent months spending money he didn't have,"
I reminded her,
"wining and dining his mistress while treating me like dirt."
"He made his choices with absolute confidence,"
I stated,
"and now he has to live with the consequences of those choices."
"I will not give you a single penny of this inheritance,"
I declared firmly,
"not for Scott,
and not for anyone else in your family."
"You always told me that I didn't belong in your social circle,
Eleanor,"
I recalled,
bringing up her past cruelty,
"so I suggest you use your own high-society connections to save your son."
"Goodbye,"
I said,
and I ended the call before she could offer another desperate plea,
blocking the number permanently.
I walked back inside the house,
watching the fresh paint covering the old walls,
May you like
feeling absolutely no guilt,
only a magnificent sense of closure.
