Chapter 3 - The Broken Foundation
The party ended in absolute silence. The guests left without saying goodbye, stepping around the blue balloons that were slowly deflating on the floor.
Michael spent the next two hours pacing the hallway, his phone glued to his ear, whispering to family attorneys and nodding at whatever Sarah was telling him downstairs in her car. When he finally walked back into the living room, his face was pale, devoid of any warmth or recognition.
"Emily," he said, his voice terrifyingly flat. "Pack a bag. Go stay at a hotel. My lawyer says it's best if you aren't in the apartment tonight."
"This is my apartment, Michael," I said, holding Matthew tight against my chest. My father was packing our suitcases in the guest room while my mother kept watch at the door. "Your mother brought literal garbage to our son's birthday, and you're evicting me?"
"You assaulted my mother," Michael repeated like a broken robot, parroting Sarah's exact phrasing. "You proved her point. You're unstable."
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That was the exact moment the love I had carried for him for eight years died completely. There was no grief left, only cold strategy. I looked at my husband—not as a partner, but as an extension of the woman who had tormented us for years.
"Fine," I whispered, standing up with Matthew's hand in mine. "Keep the apartment. Keep your mother. But I promise you, Michael, you will never take my son."
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