Chapter 3 - The Expulsion and the Unravelling Truth
Officer Davis escorted Carmen out of the master bedroom and down the hallway into the living room, where she continued to wail and protest loudly, demanding to call her lawyer, her friends, and anyone who would listen. None of her twenty "friends" were anywhere to be found; they had vanished into the Phoenix evening, leaving behind half-eaten plates of roast pork and expensive wine glasses as monuments to their shallow cowardice.
I walked out of the bedroom behind the officers, holding the black plastic trash bags containing our clothes. The sight of my five-year-old daughter's dresses stuffed into garbage bags made my blood run cold.
"Mom," I said, stopping a few feet away from her where she stood flanked by the police officers. "The locks are being changed tonight. Your luggage—whatever belongs to you—is going to be packed into boxes and placed outside the security gate. You are never stepping foot in this apartment again."
Carmen’s jaw dropped. For a moment, the performative tears stopped, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated venom.
"You are throwing your own mother out on the street?!" she shrieked, lunging forward before Officer Davis gently pushed her back onto the sofa. "After everything I sacrificed for you?! After raising you as a single mother in Baltimore while you were nothing more than a sickly, ungrateful brat?! This is how you repay me?! That worthless wife of yours has poisoned your mind!"
"No, Mother, you poisoned yourself," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. "You took advantage of my trust, you abused my wife, and you tortured my five-year-old daughter. You crossed a line that can never be uncrossed."
Sergeant Miller stepped between us, addressing Carmen directly. "Mrs. Ferris, you are being detained for questioning regarding charges of child endangerment, physical abuse, and coercion. You will be transported downtown to the precinct. Any further statements you make will be recorded and used in court."
Carmen’s face turned an ugly shade of purple. As Officer Davis gently but firmly cuffed her wrists—she shrieked as the metal bracelets clicked into place—she glared at me with a hatred so pure it sent a chill down my spine.
"You'll pay for this, Zayden!" she screamed as they led her toward the front door. "You’ll crawl back to me when that woman ruins your life! You’ll see!"
The heavy apartment door clicked shut behind them, sealing off her shrill voice.
The silence that followed was deafening. The apartment, usually filled with the warmth of family life, felt cold, sterile, and haunted. The lingering smell of fried food and cheap perfume hung in the air like a bad memory.
I set the trash bags down on the floor and pulled out my phone. I dialed Jessica’s number. She answered on the second ring.
"Jessica? How is Olivia?" I asked anxiously.
"We're at the emergency room," Jessica’s voice came through, shaking and exhausted. "The doctors are treating her burns. They said the blistering is deep, but thankfully there's no permanent nerve damage. She's resting now, Zayden. But she's terrified. She keeps asking if Grandma is coming back."
"Tell her no," I said firmly, closing my eyes as a tear finally slipped down my cheek. "Tell her Grandma is gone, and she will never, ever be allowed near us again. I'm coming to the hospital right now. I just need to finish dealing with the police and arrange for a locksmith."
"Hurry, Zayden," she whispered. "I need you here."
"I'm on my way."
I hung up and turned around to survey the mess. The folding tables were still littered with dirty plates, half-empty wine bottles, and crumpled napkins. The apartment looked like a cheap banquet hall after a chaotic wedding reception.
Instead of cleaning it myself, I opened my laptop and searched for emergency cleaning and biohazard services in the Phoenix area. I didn't want a single trace of my mother's presence left in this home. I booked a deep-cleaning crew for first thing in the morning, along with a 24-hour locksmith to replace every single lock, deadbolt, and security code in the building.
As I walked toward the front door to leave for the hospital, something caught my eye on the floor near the entryway shoe rack. A small, crushed piece of paper lay half-hidden beneath a discarded designer heel.
Curious, I bent down and picked it up.
May you like
It wasn't a party invitation or a receipt. It was a handwritten letter, penned in messy, cramped handwriting on lined notebook paper. The ink was slightly smeared, as if it had been written in a hurry or in tears.
I unfolded it and began to read.
