Chapter 2
It was three in the morning by the time I finally walked out of the precinct.
Because the medical evaluation confirmed the bruises were minor, and because Derek played the role of the incredibly forgiving husband who just wanted me to reflect on my actions rather than press charges, the police let me go with a stern verbal warning.
The moment I stepped out the front doors, my phone began vibrating violently.
Text messages, missed calls, and notifications threatened to crash my screen.
The HR director at my firm had tagged me directly in the company group chat. [Helen, given the severe negative impact the current online narrative is having on the firm's public image, executive management has decided to suspend you immediately, pending a full investigation.]
Right below that were private messages from my coworkers.
[Helen, how could someone so professional harbor such dark tendencies?]
[How could you lay a hand on such a cute kid?]
I stood under the dim glow of a streetlamp, the cold night wind cutting across my face.
For a fraction of a second, I wanted to turn around, storm back to the house, and take those two parasites down with me.
But rationality held me back. I knew better.
When I finally arrived home, the smart lock flashed a harsh red light, accompanied by a mechanical voice stating my fingerprint was invalid.
I tried again. It failed again.
"Open the door," I said, pounding my fist against the heavy door.
"Helen, Ben is deeply traumatized right now, and just hearing your voice is making him shake," Derek drawled lazily from the other side. "For the sake of his safety, you should check into a hotel for a few days.
"Oh, by the way, I did you a favor and packed your things. They are by the trash chute at the end of the hall."
I turned my head. Sure enough, two massive black garbage bags were slumped in the filthy corner of the stairwell.
I walked over and ripped the plastic open.
Inside, I found my designer clothes, my meticulously prepared quarterly bidding proposals, and my professional certification plaques. Everything had been shredded to pieces with scissors, soaked through with what smelled like Ben's leftover soda.
"This house is my pre-marital property, Derek. What gives you the right to lock me out?" I muttered, pulling out my phone to dial 911. But then I saw Derek was live again.
He was walking through my house with his camera, playing the victim.
"Fam, it is not that I do not want to let her in, but she actually threatened Ben down at the station," Derek said to his viewers. "Look at this custom furniture and these renovations. Ben loves this home.
"Now she is trying to throw Ben and me out onto the streets to freeze."
Ben was sitting on my custom sofa, wearing a brand-new, expensive gaming hoodie, shoving greasy fried chicken into his mouth. "Get out, you bad woman," Ben yelled with his mouth full. "This is my dad's house, you murderer."
The live chat was a chorus of cheers.
Viewers praised Derek for standing his ground, demanding I be stripped of all my assets.
They argued that even if the house was pre-marital property, I had probably paid the mortgage during the marriage, which meant Ben was entitled to half of it.
I let out a cold laugh.
Mortgage payments? The only debt Derek had ever paid off in his entire miserable life was his online gaming tabs.
My phone buzzed again. It was Derek's mother, Martha Lester.
Her shrill voice stabbed right through me, leaving a sharp, ringing pain in my head. "Why haven't you dropped dead in a ditch yet, Helen?
"Ben told me everything. You starved him to save a few pennies and forced him to do his homework on his knees. You better hand your salary cards over to Derek right now so that he can manage your finances.
"If you do not, I will show up at your corporate office with protest banners to let the whole world know exactly what kind of trash you are."
"Where were you when Derek was keeping your grandson up all night playing video games, Martha?" I asked, my fingertips trembling with pure rage. "Do you honestly believe I am a pushover, ready to be bossed around?"
"You are a worthless woman who couldn't even give us a biological son," Martha spat into the receiver. "You should be grateful we even kept you around to raise Ben.
"You better crawl back, beg for forgiveness, and buy Ben that new Storm Sovereign legendary skin he wants. Otherwise, we are going to ruin you completely."
The line went dead.
I stood there and stared at the locked door, listening to the muffled sounds of Derek and Ben laughing inside my home.
If they loved putting on a show this much, I decided I would build them the grandest stage they had ever seen.