Chapter 2 - The Midnight Council
Back at Sharon’s house, the atmosphere had shifted from smug holiday cheer to a war council fueled by panic and indignation.
Sharon slammed her phone down onto the antique mahogany coffee table so hard the crystal wine glasses rattled. Her face was flushed a dangerous shade of crimson beneath her perfectly styled silver hair.
“He hung up on me,” Sharon breathed, her voice trembling with disbelief. “My own son hung up on me in the middle of a sentence.”
Lawrence didn’t look up from his recliner, merely nursing his scotch as if the unfolding chaos was an annoying television show he couldn't figure out how to mute. But Melanie was on her feet instantly, pacing the Persian rug like a caged animal, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
“What do you mean he hung up?” Melanie demanded, her voice shrill. “Did he cancel the November transfer? Mom, tell me he didn't actually cancel it. Bella’s private school tuition is due on the third of next month! If that check bounces, they’re going to drop her from the gymnastics team and the accelerated STEM program!”
“He canceled everything, Melanie!” Sharon snapped, turning her fury onto her daughter. “Every single recurring payment! He said... he actually had the audacity to quote that brat of a son he has. He said we crossed a line!”
“A line?” Melanie laughed bitterly, tossing her hands in the air. “He’s the one who married a woman with a shady past! Everyone in this county knows Mia’s biological father skipped town the second he found out. Thomas was just desperate enough to play savior and raise another man’s mistake, and now he’s acting like we’re the villains because we refuse to live in a fantasy world!”
Lawrence finally set his glass down, the heavy crystal thudding against the wood. He looked at Sharon with tired, bloodshot eyes.
“You went too far, Sharon,” Lawrence muttered, his voice raspy. “You always take it too far with the kids. You couldn't just keep your mouth shut for two hours on Christmas Day. You had to sink the knife in.”
“Oh, shut up, Lawrence!” Sharon barked, spinning on her husband. “You’ve sat in that chair your entire life letting me do the dirty work of keeping this family afloat! If Thomas cuts us off, do you have any idea how much this house costs to maintain? Your pension covers the property taxes and nothing else! Melanie doesn’t have a real job—her boutique brings in pocket change! How are we supposed to pay the mortgage?”
“Maybe,” Lawrence said quietly, standing up with a painful groan of his arthritic joints, “you should start paying your own bills.”
“Where are you going?” Sharon demanded as Lawrence shuffled toward the hallway.
“To bed. You started this war. You figure out how to win it.”
Melanie stared at her mother, her eyes wide with a manic desperation. “Mom, we can’t just let him do this. Thomas has always been weak. He’s spineless. He only acts tough when that wife of his is whispering in his ear. We need to go over there.”
May you like
Sharon’s expression hardened, the wrinkles around her mouth tightening into a cruel, calculated smirk. She walked over to the mantelpiece, picked up her designer handbag, and pulled out her car keys.
“Oh, we’re going over there, all right,” Sharon whispered, her voice dropping an octave into something venomous. “Thomas thinks he’s a man because he stood up to his mother over a piece of scrap paper? I’m going to show him who built this family from the ground up. Get your coat, Melanie. We’re paying our favorite son a little midnight visit.”
