Chapter 6 - The Broken Sister
Forty-eight hours after Gregory’s arrest, the seaside house was quiet again.
A professional hazardous cleanup team had spent a full day removing every drop of fuel, replacing the ruined hardwood planks near the patio, and installing brand-new reinforced hurricane-grade glass in the sliders. The house smelled not of gasoline, but of fresh cedar, lemon wax, and the crisp salt air blowing off the ocean.
Mom and Dad had returned from Manzanita.
Dad sat in his favorite leather armchair by the window, a warm mug of black coffee between his palms. He looked ten years older, the lines around his eyes etched deep by stress, but his posture was upright. The fear was gone. In its place was a solemn, sorrowful resolve.
At 2:00 PM, a modest silver sedan pulled into the gravel driveway.
It wasn't Gregory’s loud, aggressive pickup. It was an eight-year-old rental car.
Fiona got out.
She wasn't wearing her designer sunglasses, her cashmere cardigan, or her expensive jewelry. She was dressed in worn jeans and an oversized gray sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, her face bare of makeup, pale and hollowed out by days of sleepless shock and relentless crying.
She walked up the porch steps slowly, hesitating at the front door before knocking with a trembling knuckle.
I opened the door.
For five long seconds, we simply looked at each other. My sister. The girl I had shared a childhood with, who had sat across the dinner table from me for twenty years, who had thrown away every shred of family loyalty for a sociopathic husband's greed.
"Lucas," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Can I... can I speak to Mom and Dad?"
"That depends," I said coldly, blocking the doorway. "Are you here with another notary, Fiona? Or are you here to film another TikTok about how your abusive brother ruined your life?"
Fiona flinched, wrapping her arms around her stomach as if she might collapse. "I took it down. I deleted all of it. Lucas, I swear on my sons' lives... I didn't know about the gasoline. I didn't know he was coming back here with fuel. When the police called me from the county jail at two in the morning... I felt like my entire world exploded."
"Come in, Fiona," a voice called from inside.
It was Dad.
Fiona walked into the living room, her eyes darting nervously toward the newly installed floorboards where Gregory had poured accelerant. She stopped three feet from Dad’s chair, dropped to her knees on the rug, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I’m sorry," she wept, her body shaking with violent tremors. "Dad, I’m so sorry. I was blind. He told me we were drowning in debt, that if we didn't get this house, the bank was going to take everything and we’d be living in a shelter. He manipulated me... he told me Lucas had millions and wouldn't miss this place... and I believed him because I was terrified."
Dad didn't reach out to stroke her hair. He didn't tell her it was okay.
He sat completely still, looking down at his daughter with a look of profound, aching sadness.
"Fiona," Dad said, his voice quiet but unshakable. "You didn't believe him because you were terrified. You believed him because you were greedy."
Fiona gasped, lifting her tear-streaked face.
"You let him talk to me like I was a stray dog," Dad continued, every word landing with the weight of an iron hammer. "You watched your husband kick my belongings across this floor, and you drank wine and laughed. You were willing to watch your mother and me live in a Medicaid nursing home so you could keep driving a luxury car and pretend to be high society."
"Dad, no—"
"Do not interrupt me," Dad commanded, raising one hand. "For forty years, your mother and I gave you everything we had. When your business ventures failed, we gave you twenty thousand dollars from my retirement fund. When you wanted a destination wedding in Cabo, we took out a second mortgage on our house in Portland. We never asked for a dime back. But you didn't see parents who loved you, Fiona. You saw an ATM that was running out of cash."
Fiona lowered her head back to the rug, her tears soaking into the wool fibers. "What do I do, Dad? What do I do? The bank took our condo. Gregory is facing ten years in prison. His construction company is bankrupt. I have seven hundred dollars in my checking account and two boys who need to eat."
Dad looked over at Mom, who stood by the kitchen counter with tears silently streaming down her face, and then he looked at me.
"Your father and I will not give you a single dollar," Mom said firmly, stepping forward. "Not one cent. Because every dollar we gave you in the past only funded Gregory's delusions and your arrogance."
"Mom..."
"Listen to your mother," Dad said. "Lucas has arranged a two-bedroom rental apartment in Hillsboro for you and the boys. The lease is paid for six months. No more, no less. There is a food stipend deposited weekly to a card in Tyler's name, not yours. Arthur Vance has filed paperwork for your immediate divorce from Gregory, and you will cooperate fully with the county prosecutor in his criminal trial."
Fiona looked up, stunned. "You... Lucas did that?"
I stepped forward, looking down at her. "I did it for Tyler and Mason. Not for you. If you want to rebuild your life, Fiona, you’re going to get a job at a grocery store, a call center, or an office. You’re going to ride the bus if you have to. You’re going to learn what an honest day's labor feels like, just like Dad did for forty-three years. And if you ever—*ever*—raise your voice to Mom or Dad again, I will personally ensure you are cut out of every family room for the rest of your natural life."
Fiona nodded frantically, wiping her face with her sleeves. "I’ll do it. I’ll take the job. I’ll cooperate with the DA. I swear, Lucas... I swear."
"The keys to the apartment are on the console table," I said, pointing toward the door. "Now leave. My parents need their peace."
May you like
Fiona stood up slowly, her shoulders bent, stripped of every ounce of vanity. She took the keys, looked at Dad one last time with deep, agonizing regret, and walked out the door into the misty coastal air.
***
