“Ms. Monroe, this is my mother’s behavior, not my company’s,” Mike said, stepping toward her, and for the first time that evening there was real steadiness in his voice. “I will deal with it. You have my word.”
She studied him for a long moment, and something in her expression shifted just slightly.
“Then deal with it first. If, in a month, I see that you’ve actually taken control of your life, perhaps we can revisit the conversation. Perhaps.”
The front door closed behind her. Her car pulled away into the evening. Eleanor stayed where she was, clutching the ruined envelope and crying quietly now, without any showmanship left in her. Mike walked past her without stopping and went upstairs to pack.
Late that night, when the house had gone so quiet you could hear the pipes settling, Regina came downstairs to clean up the broken china. Eleanor was still there on the sofa, mascara smudged, her expensive robe hanging off her like it belonged to someone else.
“You’re a schemer,” she said without looking up. “You found the envelope and moved it. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Regina stopped gathering the pieces for a moment. Then she stood up slowly and looked at her mother-in-law without lowering her eyes.
“Eleanor,” she said, crouching down in front of her, her voice almost gentle, “I didn’t create any of this. You set the stage, wrote the script, and invited the audience. I just made sure your plan reached its natural conclusion. And I have to say, it was memorable.”
