Chapter 5 - The Ultimatum
The threat hung in the wood-paneled parlor like a foul odor.
An annulment before midnight.
Marissa stood panting in the doorway, her chest heaving beneath her expensive white satin gown, glaring at Ethan as if he were the one who had driven her to this point. She expected him to fold instantly. She expected him to drop to his knees, beg her forgiveness, and come running back to her side to cast his mother out into the Richmond night.
Ethan stood frozen between us.
He looked at Marissa—his gorgeous, high-status, impeccably connected bride whose family name opened doors in the city’s elite financial circles. Then he looked at me, sitting quietly at the mahogany table with a plate of steak and a glass of wine, wearing a navy blue silk dress that I had worn to three different family functions because I didn't want to waste money on a new one.
For ten agonizing seconds, the silence in the room was so heavy I could hear the crackle of the fireplace behind me.
“Ethan,” Marissa hissed, her voice dropping into a dangerous, ultimatum-laden register. “Choose. Right now. It’s her, or it’s me.”
Ethan swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently. He looked down at his patent-leather shoes—the same shoes he had looked at when Marissa elbowed me out of the family photograph earlier that afternoon.
My heart gave a brief, pathetic flutter, still clinging to the foolish hope that thirty years of unconditional maternal love might outweigh six months of toxic infatuation.
Ethan slowly raised his head.
He looked at Marissa. Then he looked at me.
“Mom…” he started, his voice cracking miserably. “You… you really shouldn't have involved the venue manager. Marissa is right, it was just a seating mix-up, and you made a huge public scene out of nothing. Everyone outside is staring.”
The flutter in my chest died instantly, turning to ash.
“You’re telling me I made a scene?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the room like a scalpel.
“Just… just apologize to her,” Ethan pleaded, taking a step toward me with his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “Just go out there, tell everyone it was a misunderstanding, and let’s cut the cake. Please, Mom. For my sake.”
Marissa crossed her arms over her chest, a smug, triumphant smirk curling the corners of her mouth. She had won. She always won, because she knew Ethan was too weak-willed to stand against her ambitions.
I set my wineglass down on the mahogany table with a soft clink.
I stood up, smoothing my skirt once more, and picked up my leather clutch.
“You want an apology, Ethan?” I asked, looking my son dead in the eye.
He nodded eagerly, relief washing over his face. “Yes, Mom. Just a quick word, and we can put this behind us.”
“Here is my apology,” I said clearly.
I reached into my clutch, pulled out my checkbook and a gold-nibbed fountain pen, flipped to the back pages, and tore out a blank slip. I didn't write anything on it. I simply folded it neatly into a square and placed it right in the center of his unfinished plate of food.
“What is that?” Marissa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Another check? Trying to buy your way out of looking like a fool?”
“No, Marissa,” I said, walking slowly toward the door, pausing just inches away from them. “That is my resignation.”
Ethan’s face went completely pale. “Resignation? What are you talking about, Mom? You don't work for us.”
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“Correct,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder one last time. “I don't work for you anymore. And as of five minutes ago, my financial obligations to your life have officially been terminated.”
Before either of them could speak, I brushed past them into the hallway, leaving the private parlor—and my son—behind in the quiet shadows.
