Chapter 4 - The Arrival of the Son
By 4:15 p.m., the front yard was quiet, the gray suburban sky darkening as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Three large black trash bags and two taped cardboard boxes sat neatly on the concrete porch, right beside the small American flag that fluttered in the autumn wind.
Sarah had refused to leave the house, locking herself in the main bathroom with Tyler. I hadn't forced her out. I had simply sat in the living room with Olivia, reading her a book about a little bear who went to the moon, her small weight a warm, comforting presence against my chest.
At 4:32 p.m., the sound of tires crunching over dry leaves signaled Michael’s arrival.
His silver SUV didn't even make it all the way into the driveway before he slammed the brakes, leaving the vehicle idling at an angle across the lawn. The door flew open, and Michael lunged out, his tie loosened, his expensive gray suit jacket wrinkled from the frantic drive.
He stopped on the porch, his eyes landing on the black trash bags and the boxes. His face turned a deep, angry crimson.
He burst through the front door, slamming it behind him with a force that rattled the glass panes.
"Emily!" he roared.
"In here, Michael," I said from the armchair, my voice calm, my hand slowly turning the page of Olivia’s book.
Michael stormed into the living room, his boots leaving dark streaks of wet mud on my clean hardwood floor. He stopped in the center of the room, his chest heaving, his eyes darting from me to Olivia’s bruised cheek, then back to my face.
"Are you happy now?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief. "You’ve ruined my family. You’ve thrown my mother’s life’s work onto the dirt like it’s trash."
"Her clothes are in bags, Michael," I said. "Her 'life's work' was hitting your daughter. If you're looking for the person who ruined this family, you’re looking in the wrong direction."
Before Michael could answer, the bathroom door down the hall clicked open. Sarah emerged, her eyes red and swollen, her hair disheveled. She ran down the hallway, throwing herself into Michael’s arms with a dramatic, sobbing gasp that belonged in a cheap theater production.
"Michael! Oh, thank God you're home!" she wailed, her hands clutching his shoulders. "She hit me, Michael! She slapped me twice! I thought she was going to kill me! And she canceled my medical card! She’s trying to kill me, Michael! She knows I need that surgery!"
Michael wrapped his arms around his mother, his eyes locking onto mine with a cold, hard hatred I had never seen in him before. "I see it, Ma. I’ve got you. She’s not going to hurt you anymore."
"Michael," I said, leaning forward. "Look at your daughter's face."
"She’s two, Emily!" Michael snapped, refusing to look at Olivia, who was now hiding her face in my neck. "Kids get bumped! They get bruised! My mother was trying to keep her from becoming a thief! She’s been raising children since before you were born! She knows what she's doing!"
"She made her nose bleed, Michael," I said, my voice rising for the first time. "She called her a pig! She told me our daughter was worth less than Tyler because she doesn't carry the Mitchell name! Are you really going to stand there and defend a woman who treats your own flesh and blood like garbage?"
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"She is my mother!" Michael screamed, his voice cracking. "She gave me everything! She sacrificed her whole life so my brothers and I could have a future! I don't care what she did to Olivia, Emily! You do not put your hands on my mother! You do not throw her out of my house!"
"It is my house, Michael," I said, standing up, holding Olivia tight against my hip. "And as of this second, it is no longer your home either."
