Chapter 5 - Susan’s Ultimatum
The silence returned, heavier and darker than before.
Susan looked at Dad as if he had spoken in an ancient, dead language. Her eyes darted from the wedding ring on the counter to his weathered, uncompromising face.
“What did you just say to me?” she whispered.
“You heard me, Susan,” Dad replied. He didn't blink. He didn't fidget. He stood with the unyielding posture of an oak tree that had weathered fifty winters of storms and was finally refusing to bend. “For eight years, I thought we were a partnership. I thought every dollar I earned working double shifts at the plant was going toward our retirement, toward leaving something behind for our girls, toward giving Jacob a safety net.”
He pointed a calloused finger at the highlighted bank statements lying open on the table.
“Instead, you ran an underground banking operation to finance Jessica’s vanity. You forged my initials on the home equity line of credit two years ago, didn't you?”
Susan flinched violently, stepping back until her spine hit the kitchen cabinets. Her face turned an ashen shade of gray.
“How… how did you find out about that?” she breathed.
“Because the bank manager at First National is Frank Miller’s son,” Dad said, his tone devoid of anger, filled only with an exhausted, desolate sadness. “I went to high school with his father. When the second delinquent notice came to the house last month while you were at your garden club, Tommy called my personal cell. He asked me why David Miller was three months behind on a home equity loan he took out to build an in-ground pool he never built.”
Dad leaned forward, resting both hands flat against the wooden island.
“You borrowed sixty thousand dollars against this cabin, Susan. Against the only thing my father left me. And where did that money go?”
He turned his head toward Jessica, whose mouth hung open in absolute panic.
“It went to buying three hundred thousand fake followers from an agency in Brazil,” Dad said. “It went to renting a penthouse apartment in Raleigh for six months so she could pretend she lived in an upscale high-rise. It went to paying off Derek’s sports car so he wouldn't dump her.”
Uncle Mark let out an audible gasp, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Susan… you took out an equity loan on the lake house? That cabin belongs to the whole family!”
“Shut up, Mark!” Susan snapped, the maternal mask slipping entirely, revealing the desperate, cornered predator underneath. “Don't you dare sit there and judge me! You’ve borrowed twenty thousand dollars from us over the last decade and haven't paid back a single red cent! You let your brother pay for your wife’s funeral arrangements while you bought a brand-new bass boat three months later!”
“Hey!” Mark surged up from the sofa, his face turning an angry, blotchy purple. “That was a personal loan between family!”
“Stop it!” I yelled, stepping into the center of the room. Jacob flinched behind me, burying his face deeper into my jeans. “Look at yourselves! Look at what this family is!”
I looked at my mother, the woman who had criticized my parenting every time I couldn't afford brand-name sneakers for Jacob, the woman who told me I was ‘too proud’ when I refused to ask for handouts.
“You stole from Dad,” I said, my voice shaking with an unbearable mixture of disgust and heartbreak. “You ruined my credit. You let Jessica stand in this room and crush my seven-year-old son’s birthday presents, and your first instinct was to tell *me* not to make a scene?”
“Sarah, you don't understand how the world works!” Susan cried out, her voice shrill, frantic, spinning desperately out of control. “Jessica had potential! She had charisma! If she just caught the right algorithm, if she got that one viral contract, she was going to pay everything back! She was going to buy us a house on the coast! We were doing it for everyone! For the family!”
“I am your family!” I screamed back, tears finally cutting hot tracks down my cheeks. “Jacob is your family! He was standing right here, Mom! He didn't ask for a house on the coast! He asked for a nine-dollar plastic dinosaur and a box of watercolors! And you let her snap them in half because you were afraid she’d look bad on her little phone screen!”
“Enough,” Dad said.
The word was quiet, but it fell upon the cabin like an iron curtain.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slim, legal-sized white envelope. He didn't slam it down. He set it right beside his wedding ring.
“What is that?” Susan asked, her breath catching in her throat.
“Petition for Dissolution of Marriage,” Dad said calmly. “My attorney filed it with the county clerk on Thursday morning. The process server was supposed to meet us here on Monday, but given today’s performance, I don't see any reason to wait.”
Susan’s knees buckled. She had to grip the edge of the kitchen counter with both hands to keep from collapsing onto the floor.
“David… no,” she wept, shaking her head violently. “No, you can’t. Thirty-eight years. You cannot throw thirty-eight years away over a family squabble! We can fix this! We can go to counseling! We can sell Jessica’s car!”
“The car isn't ours to sell,” Dad said. “The cabin is going up for sale on Tuesday. With the equity you drained, there won't be much left after the mortgage is settled, but whatever remains will be split fifty-fifty. My half is going into a trust fund for Jacob’s education, managed exclusively by Sarah.”
Jessica let out a horrified screech. “You’re selling the cabin? Where am I supposed to film my summer content? That’s my entire aesthetic!”
Dad turned his back on her. He didn't even acknowledge that she had spoken. He looked directly at Susan.
“The attorney has also prepared a full forensic audit of the joint accounts,” Dad continued, his voice steady as granite. “Every dollar you transferred to Jessica without my consent over the last five years will be accounted for as an advance on your portion of the marital assets. If there is fraud involved—and given the forged signatures on the home equity line, there clearly is—you and Jessica will be dealing with the district attorney, not me.”
“Dad, you can’t send Mom to prison!” Jessica wailed, genuine terror finally piercing through her narcissistic haze. “She’s your wife!”
“She stopped being my wife the day she decided to let her own grandson starve so her daughter could play pretend on the internet,” Dad said.
He walked around the counter, bent down, and picked up the crushed dinosaur box. He examined the cracked plastic for a moment, then set it gently on top of the manila folder.
Then he looked at me.
May you like
“Sarah,” Dad said softly, the harsh edge vanishing from his voice entirely, replaced by a tenderness that broke my heart into a million pieces. “Pack Jacob’s things. We’re leaving.”
***
