Chapter 6 - The Christmas Eve Message
My phone rang at 11:14 AM while I was standing in my kitchen, wearing a comfortable wool sweater, listening to soft jazz on the speakers while my homemade beef stew simmered on the stove.
I looked at the caller ID: Mark.
I didn't decline the call. I picked it up, set it on speaker, and set the phone on the marble counter.
"Hello, Mark," I said, my voice as calm and cool as the snow falling outside my window.
"Diane..." Mark sobbed into the phone.
It was an ugly, desperate sound—the sound of a broken man weeping openly into an empty room.
"Diane... please... please don't hang up," he choked out between gasps. "Please... I’m begging you."
I stirred the stew with a wooden spoon. "I’m listening, Mark."
"I’m sorry," he wept. "I’m so, so sorry, Diane. I was wrong. I was so unbelievably stupid. Susan manipulated me, Emily pushed me, and I... I didn't appreciate what I had in you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Diane. Please... just tell me what to do to fix this."
I set the wooden spoon down on a porcelain rest.
"You can't fix this, Mark," I said gently.
"Yes I can!" he cried frantically. "I’ll give back the sixty thousand! I’ll sell my truck! I’ll never speak to Susan again! I’ll cut her off completely! I’ll tell Emily she has to apologize to you on her knees! Just please... don't leave me. Don't destroy our life."
"You destroyed our life three years ago when you registered M&S Consulting, Mark," I said.
The line went completely dead quiet.
Mark’s heavy breathing caught in his throat. "What... what did you just say?"
"I opened the safe in the basement storage room, Mark," I said smoothly. "I found the blue leather ledger. I found the tax correspondence. I found the $142,850 you took from our marriage to pay for Susan’s Lexus, her taxes, and her condo."
Mark let out a small, terrified whimpering sound.
"Diane... no... please..."
"Patricia Vance has the files, Mark," I continued. "The bank has the files. The county judge signed an emergency asset freeze yesterday at 4:00 PM. And on December 26th at 8:00 AM, the IRS Fraud Division will receive their copies."
"Diane! They’ll send me to prison!" Mark shrieked, his voice cracking in sheer, unadulterated horror. "I’m an executive! I can't go to prison! It will destroy my life!"
"You should have thought about that before you forged my name on a home equity line, Mark," I said.
"Diane, I’m your husband!" he begged, his tone shifting from sorrow to frantic rage. "You swore vows to me! For better or worse!"
"Vows are a contract between two people, Mark," I replied, holding my voice steady. "You broke that contract eight years ago. I was just the last person to find out."
"Please..." he whispered, his voice dissolving into pathetic whimpers. "I’m stuck in a motel in Gatlinburg. I have no money. My cards are declined. The motel is throwing me out in twenty minutes. I have nowhere to go, Diane. It’s Christmas Eve."
I looked over at the six bags of groceries I had brought home from Kroger two days ago.
The eight-pound spiral-cut ham was roasting in my oven, filling the warm, beautiful house with the rich scent of brown sugar and cloves.
"Mark," I said softly.
"Yes, Diane? Yes?!" he asked, hope flaring up in his voice like a dying match.
"Be the bigger person," I said.
And I hung up the phone.
May you like
I tapped his contact setting, selected Block This Caller, and turned my phone completely off.
I walked over to the dining room table, set a single place setting with my fine porcelain china, poured myself a full glass of deep red Cabernet, and smiled into the quiet, peaceful room.
