Chapter 4 - The Outcast’s Ally
I couldn't help it. I laughed. A loud, bubbling sound that echoed in the narrow hallway.
"A cult, Dad? Really?"
"That was the mildest of her terms," my father replied, though I could hear the smile in his voice. "She also mentioned financial elder abuse, kidnapping, and the fact that you ruined her 'traditional family dinner' at the Grill. So, what actually happened?"
I leaned against the wall, the tension leaving my shoulders as I recounted the story for the second time that day. I didn't embellish. I didn't need to. The facts of what Eleanor had said to Lily spoke for themselves.
When I finished, there was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. For a moment, I worried that even my father, who had managed to put three thousand miles between himself and my mother, might think I had gone too far.
"Dad?" I asked, suddenly feeling like a little girl again, waiting for a verdict.
"Ariana," he said softly, and I could hear the deep, resonant sigh of a man who had fought those same battles decades ago. "I am so incredibly proud of you."
I blinked back tears. "You are?"
"I am. Your mother has a way of making people feel like they are the crazy ones for wanting basic decency. I stayed in that marriage for fifteen years because I thought I was protecting you kids. But all I did was teach you that surviving her meant letting her walk all over you. I watched her do it to you for years, Ari. You were always the 'responsible' one, which just meant you were the one she could exploit without a fight."
He paused, and I heard the faint clinking of a coffee cup on his end. "And to do that to Lily... to a six-year-old child over a paper snowflake? That is Eleanor at her worst. She uses exclusion as a weapon. If you don't play by her rules, she locks you out of the castle. But she forgot one very important thing."
"What’s that?"
"You own the castle's treasury," my father said, a quiet triumph in his voice. "Without your financial help, without your organization, without your energy, that family structure of theirs is going to collapse like a house of cards. They don't know how to survive without you, Ari. And they are about to find out the hard way."
"What should I do, Dad?" I asked. "They're blowing up my phone. Clara says I owe them for the dinner bill. Julian says he can't pay his rent."
"You do nothing," he said firmly. "You block their numbers. For at least forty-eight hours. Let them sit in the mess they made. Let them figure out how to pay their own bills. And as for Christmas... how would you and Lily like to get out of the city?"
"What do you mean?"
"I have the cabin in Oregon," he said. "It’s quiet, there’s three feet of snow on the ground, and the fireplace works perfectly. I was planning on spending a quiet holiday alone, but nothing would make me happier than having my daughter and my granddaughter here with me. I’ll buy the plane tickets. Today."
The offer was incredibly tempting. A real, snowy Christmas, far away from the toxic fallout of the Romano family drama. No cold stares, no passive-aggressive comments, no bills to pay for people who didn't respect me.
"Are you sure, Dad?" I asked, my heart swelling.
"I’ve never been surer of anything," he said. "Let me do this for you, Ari. Let me be the parent for once."
"Okay," I whispered, a tear finally escaping and running down my cheek. "Yes. We’d love that."
"Good. Send me your details, and I’ll book the flights. And Ari? Keep that phone on silent."
When I hung up, I felt a weight lift off me that was so physical it made me lightheaded. I walked back into the living room, where Lily and Sarah were now working together on a massive paper chain to hang across the ceiling.
"Hey, Lilybug," I said, crouching down next to her. "How would you like to see Grandpa Richard for Christmas? In a real cabin with real snow?"
Lily gasped, dropping her safety scissors. "With snow? Can we build a snowman? A giant one?"
"The biggest snowman in Oregon," I promised.
May you like
She threw her arms around me, laughing, and for the first time in my life, the approach of December twenty-fifth didn't fill me with a sense of impending dread. It felt like an adventure.
But as the days went on, the silence from my family began to take on a different, more desperate tone. They weren't just angry anymore. They were panicking.
