Chapter 7 - The Aftermath of Truth
The exit of Lucas’s extended family was fast, chaotic, and utterly humiliating.
Aunt Martha didn't even finish her wine. She grabbed her purse, gave Lucas a look of profound disappointment, and practically dragged Uncle Richard out the front door. Cousin Todd left without taking his mud-stained shoes off the ottoman until Serena cleared her throat, prompting him to practically jump toward the foyer.
By nine-thirty, the heavy front door slammed shut behind them, leaving only Serena, Lucas, and Beatrice standing in the broad, silent hallway.
The house smelled of stale food and cold roses.
Beatrice was sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase, weeping loudly into a tissue. "I have nowhere to go, Lucas! Nowhere! My old lease is gone! You promised me I would always have a home here!"
Lucas was pacing back and forth across the heart-pine floor, his fingers clutching his hair, his face pale and slick with sweat.
"Serena, please," Lucas begged, rushing over to where Serena was standing near the parlor entry. "You can't do this! You humiliated my mother in front of the whole family! You humiliated me!"
"You humiliated yourself, Lucas," Serena said, her voice remaining impossibly steady. "You built a castle out of my inheritance and invited your family to sit on the throne while you forced me into the basement."
"I just wanted them to respect me!" Lucas yelled, his voice cracking with a pathetic, desperate strain. "My whole life, my uncle and my cousins looked down on me because I didn't make big money! When we got married, when we moved into this place... for the first time, people looked at me like I was someone important! Was it really so wrong to let them think I helped build this?!"
"Yes," Serena said without a second of hesitation. "It was wrong because you built your self-esteem on the erasure of my life."
She stepped closer to him.
"You let your mother take down my father’s portraits, Lucas. My father died six years ago. This was his sanctuary. You let her put his memory in cardboard boxes in the basement so your uncle could compliment you on your 'modern taste.'"
"I’ll move them back!" Lucas pleaded, grabbing her hands. His hands were shaking. "I’ll bring the photos up right now! I’ll fire the contractors! I’ll tell the bank it was a mistake—"
"It's too late," Serena said, gently but firmly removing her hands from his grip. "The bank has already flagged the file. And my attorney, Evelyn, is preparing a secondary motion tomorrow morning."
Lucas froze. "A secondary motion for what?"
Serena looked at him with a mixture of pity and absolute finality.
"For dissolution of marriage, Lucas."
Beatrice’s weeping stopped instantly. She looked up from the stairs, her eyes wide with shock. "Divorce?! You’re divorcing my son over a house?!"
"I am divorcing your son because he is a coward, Beatrice," Serena replied coldly, turning her gaze onto the older woman. "He used me as a financial shield and used you as an emotional weapon. You two deserve each other. But you will not do it inside 412 Oglethorpe Avenue for another day longer than the law requires."
Serena turned and began walking up the stairs.
"Serena! Where are you going?!" Lucas shouted after her.
"I’m going to sleep in my master bedroom," Serena called down without turning back. "You can sleep on the sofa in 'your' living room. Or better yet, you can help your mother pack."
When she reached the second-floor landing, she walked over to the thermostat mounted on the wall. She adjusted the dial, setting the upstairs cooling to a crisp, comfortable sixty-eight degrees.
She walked into her home office, sat down at her father’s desk, and opened her laptop.
May you like
Below her, she could hear the muffled sound of Beatrice yelling at Lucas, and Lucas’s breaking voice trying to defend himself. But for the first time in two long years, the noise sounded distant—like a storm passing miles away over the ocean.
Serena smiled faintly, pulled up a fresh document, and began drafting the list of items she wanted restored to the main floor tomorrow morning.
