Chapter 2
The next morning,
the phone started ringing before I even had my coffee.
It was my father,
Robert.
I answered,
my voice cool and professional.
"Catherine!
What is going on?
Our cards were declined at the car rental desk!
The villa owner is threatening to evict us before we even unpack!"
I leaned back in my chair,
sipping my coffee slowly.
"I stopped the funding,
Dad."
There was a pause,
then a screech of disbelief.
"You what?
We are in the middle of a trip!
Are you trying to ruin our vacation?
Fix it,
now!"
"I'm not fixing anything,"
I replied,
my voice steady.
"Abigail is safe at home.
She told me exactly what you said to her on the roadside.
'You're ruining everything.'
Those were your words."
"She's a child!
She doesn't understand the pressures we were under!"
he shouted.
"You are being incredibly petty."
"Petty?"
I laughed,
a dry,
hollow sound.
"Is it petty to expect grandparents to care for their granddaughter?
Is it petty to expect basic human decency?
You left her alone.
That is child endangerment.
I’ve already contacted an attorney."
"You wouldn't,"
he whispered,
his voice suddenly dropping.
"You know what happens if your business reputation is tied to family legal drama."
"My business reputation is fine,"
I countered.
"Your reputation,
however,
is about to be shredded.
I have the location pin you sent.
I have the text messages.
And I have the accounts proving you’ve been living off my earnings for years."
I heard my mother in the background,
screaming for him to give her the phone.
"Catherine!
Listen to me,"
she shrieked.
"We are your parents!
You owe us!"
"I owe you nothing,"
I said,
and hung up.
I blocked their numbers.
I didn't need to hear their excuses,
their gaslighting,
or their pathetic attempts to guilt-trip me.
I called the school to let them know Abigail would be staying home for a few days.
Then,
I called my assistant.
"Cancel the wire transfer for their return flight,"
I commanded.
"And if they call the office,
have security remove them if they show up in person."
I felt powerful.
I felt protective.
And for the first time in my life,
I felt like a mother who was actually protecting her child,
not just facilitating her parents' narcissism.
Abigail walked into the kitchen,
looking small in her pajamas.
She looked at me,
then at the phone.
"Is it them?"
she asked.
"No,
honey,"
I said,
hugging her.
"It’s no one important.
May you like
We’re just having a quiet day,
all to ourselves."
