Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
Harlan Voss left the house five minutes later without another word, his phone glued to his ear as he frantically dialed members of his board from the driveway. Within twenty minutes, every single one of my mother’s guests had made hurried, deeply uncomfortable excuses and fled into the night, leaving the dining room littered with half-eaten pumpkin pie and crumpled linen napkins.
My father sat alone at the head of the long table, staring silently at the torn contract on the cloth. My mother sat in an armchair in the corner of the living room, weeping quietly into a handkerchief—not tears of regret, but tears of public humiliation.
Skyler sat on the porch steps outside, wrapped in her heavy winter coat, her head buried in her knees.
I put on my coat, walked out onto the porch, and sat down beside her on the cold wood. The night was still and silent, the frost glistening under the porch light.
“I was so proud of that job, Wendy,” Skyler sobbed quietly, her breath forming small white clouds in the freezing air. “I thought I had finally made it. I thought I was going to be the CEO who saved everyone. And I was just a mark. I was just an easy target with a clean credit rating.”
“You’re a brilliant manager, Skyler,” I said softly, reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You handled the regional operations at your last company flawlessly. Voss targeted you because you were young, ambitious, and hungry for approval. He used your pride against you.”
Skyler wiped her nose with the sleeve of her coat, looking up at me through red-rimmed eyes. “Why didn't you tell us about Ashford Freight years ago? Why let Mom treat you like that?”
“Because after my catering business failed, I thought that if I let you all inside my life again, you would take the joy out of it,” I admitted. “I thought if I failed, you would judge me, and if I succeeded, you would turn my hard work into your personal trophy. So I kept my real life in the dark and kept the flower shop in the sun.”
Skyler looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Wendy. For the group chat. For the assistant offer. I thought... I genuinely thought I was helping you.”
“I know,” I said, squeezing her shoulder gently. “You were playing the script Mom wrote for us. But we don't have to read from that script anymore.”
The glass door opened quietly behind us. Grandma Opal stepped out, carrying two hot mugs of cocoa. She handed one to Skyler and one to me, then sat down on the porch bench above us.
“Well,” Opal said, taking a slow breath of the night air. “That was certainly more interesting than last year’s turkey.”
May you like
Skyler burst into a sudden, tearful laugh, leaning her head against my shoulder. I smiled, resting my chin on her hair, feeling the heavy, suffocating weight of ten years of silence finally lift from my chest.
Inside the house, my mother came to the glass door. She stood behind the pane, watching the three of us sitting together in the quiet night. She didn't open the door. She didn't call out. For the first time in her life, she had nothing left to say.
