CHAPTER 3 — THE ULTIMATUM
The room erupted.
"Get out? In the middle of the night?!" Kayla screamed, jumping to her feet. "Are you insane, Ethan? We have nowhere to go!"
"You have the apartment in North Chicago that I’ve been paying the rent on so you wouldn't get evicted," I countered, staring her down. "Go there. Or go to a hotel. I don't care. But you are not staying under this roof for another hour."
My mother stood up, her fake frailty completely vanishing. "You are choosing her over your own flesh and blood? Over the mother who raised you? She has poisoned your mind, Ethan! She’s using that pregnancy to control you!"
From the kitchen doorway, Emily watched, holding her stomach, looking small and fragile. Seeing her look so vulnerable in her own home solidified my resolve.
"She didn't poison anything," I said, walking over to the front door and throwing it wide open. "I opened my eyes. I see exactly what you are. You don't love me. You love my paycheck. You love that I am compliant. Well, the bank is closed. Pack your things, or I will throw them out the window into the street."
Brittany laughed nervously. "You're bluffing. You won't do that to Mom."
I didn't answer. I walked straight into the guest bedroom where they slept. I grabbed the first suitcase I saw—Brittany's designer bag, bought with my credit card—and dragged it to the front door. I unzipped it and dumped her expensive makeup, clothes, and straighteners right out onto the concrete hallway.
"Oh my god! Stop! He’s crazy!" Brittany shrieked, rushing to save her things.
"Who's next?" I asked, looking at Kayla and Lily.
Realizing I was completely serious, a frantic panic took over. For the next forty-five minutes, my sisters scrambled around the apartment, shoving clothes into bags, crying, cursing my name, and throwing venomous insults at Emily. My mother stood by the door, glaring at me with pure hatred.
"You will regret this, Ethan," she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. "When that girl leaves you, don't come crying back to me. You are no longer my son."
"Good," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "Because you stopped being a mother the moment you decided to torture a pregnant woman."
With one final slam, the door shut. The silence that followed was heavy, almost echoing in the empty apartment.
I turned around. Emily was leaning against the wall, tears streaming down her face, but for the first time in months, her shoulders weren't hunched in fear. I walked over, wrapped my arms around her, and let her cry into my chest.
May you like
"It's over, Emily," I whispered, kissing her hair. "It's just us now. I promise."
But as I looked at the disaster of a living room they left behind, a deep dread settled in my stomach. I knew my mother. She wouldn't let this go easily.
