But some things can’t be spun.
“Oh, and by the way?” Robert added, almost casually. “The bank has been alerted. Your accounts are frozen.
So, good luck seeing a dime from this sale.”
She collapsed into a chair, mascara starting to run. One by one, her guests fled, leaving behind half-empty wine glasses and judgment thick enough to choke on.
The photographer she’d hired kept snapping pictures. I didn’t stop him.
That night, I brought our parents home.
Mom cried when she saw how her garden had wilted.
Dad just stood in the kitchen for a long time, touching the counter like he couldn’t believe it was real.
When they learned what Emily had tried to do, they pressed charges. Her “friends” vanished overnight and she lost her job at the up-and-coming make-up brand she worked for. Apparently, fraud, manipulation, and dirty tricks didn’t align with their company values.
My phone rang a week later.
Emily’s name showed on the screen.
“Please,” she whispered. “I need help. They’re going to press criminal charges.
I could go to jail.”
I laughed. “Time to move on, right?”
The click of me hanging up was the most satisfying sound I’d ever heard.
Sometimes I drive past our parents’ house and see Mom in her garden, and Dad reading on the porch. The roses are blooming again.
The grass is green. Everything looks just like it should.
Emily doesn’t call anymore. But that’s okay.
Some things, once broken, are better left that way. Last I heard, she was crashing on some cousin’s sofa in Ohio, trying to rebuild her life from scratch.
Source: amomama
