Chapter 8 - The Price of Revenge
Three weeks after the eviction, the house was silent again, but this time, it was a healing silence.
I hired contractors to fix the drywall, polish the hardwood floors, and install bright, beautiful new lighting in the kitchen. I used a small portion of my savings—money I was no longer spending on Greg’s protein powder and Sarah’s luxury groceries—to turn the house back into a home.
Meanwhile, the consequences of their choices were catching up with them fast.
Because Greg had attempted to forge my name on financial documents, Thomas had presented the evidence to the bank’s fraud division. While I chose not to press full criminal charges to spare myself a lengthy court trial, the bank flagged Greg’s credit file permanently for fraud activity.
Unable to secure an apartment lease due to his ruined credit and active eviction record, Greg and Sarah were forced to move into a tiny, two-bedroom extended-stay motel on the highway edge of town.
Then, the final blow came.
Greg’s employer learned of the financial fraud investigation. In the corporate world, an executive who attempts to steal real estate from an elderly relative is considered a massive liability. He was quietly let go before Thanksgiving.
One rainy afternoon in late November, as I was arranging fresh yellow roses in a vase on my newly restored dining table, my phone rang.
It was Sarah.
I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Hello, Sarah.”
Her voice sounded ragged, thin, and exhausted. There was no rage left in her, only the hollow echo of someone who had hit rock bottom.
“Mom,” she whispered. “Greg left.”
I stood still by the window. “What happened?”
“He took what was left of our savings and drove to his sister’s place in Ohio,” she sobbed. “He blamed me. He said my mother ruined his life. The motel rent is due on Friday, Mom. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have any money.”
The silence stretched long between us.
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Three years ago, I would have immediately grabbed my coat, driven to that motel, paid her bill, and brought her back home. My mother’s instinct would have overridden every boundary I possessed.
“Where are you, Sarah?” I asked quietly.
