Chapter 4 - The Aftermath and the Ultimatum
By Monday morning, the fallout from the birthday dinner had officially begun.
My phone started buzzing before I even finished brewing my morning coffee. It was a barrage of text messages from Andrew’s sister, Claire—the only sibling who hadn't been at the dinner because of a work trip.
‘What on earth happened on Saturday night?’ Claire wrote. ‘Mom is beside herself. She’s locked herself in her room, Dad is threatening to write Andrew out of the family trust, and Liam has been texting me a totally distorted story about how Andrew yelled at everyone and stormed out like a maniac.’
I handed my phone across the kitchen island to Andrew, who was buttering a piece of toast with a blank expression. He read the messages, let out a dry, humorless chuckle, and tossed the phone back onto the counter.
“Typical,” he muttered. “Mom plays the victim, Dad plays the executioner, and Liam plays the flying monkey. And Claire laps it all up because she lives three states away and doesn't want to rock the boat.”
“Are you going to call your sister?” I asked.
“I already did, before you woke up,” Andrew replied, taking a bite of his toast. “I told her exactly what happened. No sugar-coating. I told her that Mom physically pushed Sophie away from the table, and that I’m done pretending everything is fine.”
“And what did Claire say?”
“She went quiet,” Andrew said, his expression softening slightly. “Claire loves Sophie. She’s always been the only one on that side of the family who sends her birthday gifts that aren't cheap, thoughtless clearance items. She didn't defend Mom. But she asked if I was sure about cutting them off completely.”
Before Andrew could elaborate, his phone—his personal cell, not the work one—flashed with an incoming call. The caller ID read: Mother.
The kitchen went dead silent.
Andrew stared at the screen as it lit up with his mother’s name, the ringtone echoing off the tile floor. For ten seconds, neither of us moved. Then, with a steady hand, Andrew swiped the screen, put the phone on speaker, and laid it flat on the counter between us.
“Andrew?” Evelyn’s voice came through the speaker, sounding remarkably fragile, though I could hear the sharp, underlying edge of coercion. “Thank goodness. I hoped you’d finally cooled down. Your father is furious, of course—he hasn't slept a wink—but I’m willing to put this foolishness behind us if you apologize to your father and me for the way you spoke to us in our own home.”
Andrew didn't raise his voice. He didn't stutter. He spoke with a terrifying, calm clarity.
“I have nothing to apologize for, Mother.”
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the phone. “Andrew Joseph Bennett! Do not take that tone with me. You threw a tantrum over a seating arrangement, you humiliated us in front of our relatives, and you walked out of your own milestone birthday dinner. If you expect to ever be welcomed back into this family—or to be considered when your father and I distribute our estate—you need to fix this immediately.”
“Let me stop you right there,” Andrew interrupted, his voice cutting through her tirade like a scalpel. “There is no estate to worry about. You can leave every penny to Liam and Chloe for all I care.”
“Don't be ridiculous—”
“I am dead serious,” Andrew continued, leaning forward with his hands flat on the counter. “You made it abundantly clear on Saturday night that you do not consider my daughter to be part of your family. And since Sophie is a package deal with me and Laura, that means you don't consider us to be part of your family either.”
“She is not your real child, Andrew!” Evelyn shrieked, dropping any pretense of maternal grace. “Everyone in this family knows it! You’re playing the martyr for a woman who trapped you with another man’s kid!”
My stomach churned, a hot wave of anger rising in my throat. I opened my mouth to speak, but Andrew raised his hand, gesturing for me to stay back.
“That little girl loves me more than anyone in your toxic, cold-hearted house ever has,” Andrew said, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage. “She drew me a superhero card while your real grandchildren sat on their phones ignoring me. If you ever speak about my daughter like that again—if you ever come within five hundred feet of her—I will ensure you never see me, or any future grandchildren, ever again. Do you understand me?”
The line went dead. Evelyn hung up.
May you like
The kitchen fell back into a heavy, resonant silence. Andrew stared at the phone screen as it went dark, his chest heaving slightly. Then, he looked up at me, offering a faint, tired smile.
“Well,” he whispered. “That’s that.”
