A surprising discovery is waiting in Chapter Two.

-1

Saturday morning arrived with a crisp, autumn breeze that rustled the golden leaves tumbling across the lawn. At precisely nine o'clock, a white cargo van pulled up into the driveway, carrying Clara’s belongings.

I stood on the front porch, holding a mug of coffee, watching Clara and two movers begin carrying boxes toward the front door.

Lucas was nowhere to be seen. He had apparently decided that the best way to handle the situation was to lock himself in his bedroom with his headphones on, pretending the world outside his door didn't exist. Cowardice was becoming a recurring theme in his adult life.

As the movers navigated a bookshelf through the front entryway, a sleek black sedan pulled up sharply behind Clara’s van.

The driver's side door flew open, and out stepped Richard Bennett—not Harold, but Richard, Harold’s aggressive junior partner, accompanied by a woman I hadn't expected to see for at least a decade: Sarah.

Sarah had apparently decided that sulking in a motel was no longer productive, and had enlisted legal muscle to stage a counter-attack.

She marched up the driveway, her heels clicking aggressively against the concrete, her face painted with a mask of righteous indignation. Richard trailed closely behind her, carrying a leather briefcase.

"Martha Whitaker!" Sarah shouted, stopping at the base of the porch steps and pointing a shaking finger at me. "You cannot do this! You are violating federal housing statutes!"

I took a slow sip of my coffee, looking down at my former daughter-in-law-to-be with mild curiosity. "Federal housing statutes, Sarah? Are we regulating interstate commerce from my front porch now?"

Richard stepped forward, adjusting his tie and flashing a practiced, shark-like grin. "Mrs. Whitaker, I am Richard Bennett, associate counsel representing Sarah Morrison and her family. We are here to serve a formal notice of injunction regarding illegal commercial operations in a single-family residential zone, as well as an emergency petition for mediation regarding marital property rights."

Clara paused, holding a box of books in her arms, looking between Richard and me with wide eyes. "Martha... do I need to call Harold?"

"Not yet, Clara," I smiled calmly, setting my coffee mug down on the porch railing. I walked down the steps, stopping two feet away from Sarah and her lawyer. "Let's hear what kind of legal fan fiction they've written today."

Sarah glared at me, her eyes bloodshot. "You think you're so clever, don't you, Martha? You think you can humiliate my parents, kick us out on the street, and bring in some random woman to take my place? Lucas loves me! He’s going to sign the deed over to me the second you kick the bucket, and you’ll die alone in this empty house!"

"Sarah, darling," I said, my voice dripping with sweet condescension. "You were engaged to a thirty-two-year-old man who still lets his mother cut the crusts off his sandwiches. You were never getting that deed. And as for your lawyer—" I turned my gaze to Richard. "Mr. Bennett, if you are stupid enough to file an injunction based on a roommate agreement, Harold Bennett is going to eviscerate you in front of the magistrate. Harold is your senior partner, correct? You might want to ask him how many times he’s lost a case against me."

Richard’s professional smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "You... you know Harold?"

"We played golf together on Wednesday," I lied smoothly. We actually played bridge, but Richard didn't need to know that. "He told me all about the junior associates trying to make partner by taking on desperate, unwinnable family disputes. I suggest you pack up your briefcase, Richard. You're embarrassing yourself."

Sarah lost control completely. She lunged forward, trying to push past me to get to the front door. "I want my things! I left my designer handbag and my silk blouses in the guest closet! You have no right to keep my property!"

Before she could reach the porch, the front door swung open.

Lucas stood in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked at Sarah standing in the driveway, then at Richard, and finally at me.

"Sarah?" Lucas muttered, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Sarah stopped, her expression shifting from feral rage to pathetic pleading. "Lucas! Thank God! Your mother has completely lost her mind! She’s renting out our rooms, she’s locking us out, she’s destroying our lives! Tell her to let me inside!"

Lucas looked at her, really looked at her—not as the glamorous girlfriend he had paraded around, but as a hysterical, screaming stranger who had brought nothing but chaos into his fragile little bubble. He looked at the moving van, he looked at Clara holding a box of books, and then he looked at me.

For a brief, shining second, I thought my son was going to grow a spine.

"Sarah," Lucas said, his voice quiet and trembling. "Go home. My mom is right. We... we're done."

Sarah’s jaw dropped. "Done?! What do you mean we're done?! Are you breaking up with me over a room?!"

"I'm breaking up with you because you tried to pull a fast one on my mother and brought your parents into a house you didn't own without even discussing it with me!" Lucas yelled back, the truth finally spilling out of him. "I went along with it because I was weak, but look at where we are! My life is completely ruined!"

Richard sighed, rubbing his temples. He closed his briefcase with a loud snap. "Well. It appears my services are no longer required for marital mediation. Miss Morrison, I'll bill your father for the drive out here. Good day, Mrs. Whitaker."

Richard turned on his heel and walked back to his sedan, leaving Sarah standing alone in the driveway, staring at Lucas as if he had just stabbed her in the heart.

"You coward," Sarah whispered, her voice breaking. She spun around, ran down the driveway, jumped into her own car, and sped away, kicking up gravel that rattled against Clara’s cargo van.

Lucas stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the dust settle. Then he turned, looked at me without saying a single word, and retreated back inside, sliding his bedroom door shut with a heavy, final click.

Clara walked up the steps, carrying her box of books, and stopped beside me. She looked down the empty driveway, then up at my face.