Chapter 3
The moment the phone unlocked, I hadn't even started to check what was inside.
Suddenly, the hospital room door burst open.
David's mother, Margaret Rowe, and his father, Richard Rowe, came barreling in like a storm.
The moment Margaret saw me, her eyes went red.
It wasn't grief. It was rage.
"Emily, you brought this down on us!" she screamed.
She rushed at me, hand raised to slap.
I flinched back, and her slap missed.
"Where's my son? He was perfectly healthy, and now he's gone. Was it you? Did you do this to him?" Margaret screamed.
She jabbed her finger right in my face, screaming insults at me.
Richard stood behind her, stone-faced and silent, but the accusation in his eyes matched Margaret's exactly.
I looked at them.
On their way here, they hadn't even bothered to call and check on me.
It was as if I had never married into that family or given them two grandchildren.
To them, I was just some enemy they needed to judge.
"Margaret, I'm grieving for David too," I said, and my voice stayed level.
Even I was surprised by how calm I sounded.
"Grieving? As if! What do you have to grieve about?" Margaret snapped.
She went off like a firecracker, and the fury blazed in her eyes.
"You were just waiting for my son to die so you could get your hands on all the Rowe Family's money, weren't you?" she screamed.
I stared at her face, twisted with rage, and suddenly found it almost laughable.
She thought I was after the money.
I had spent eight years as a full-time housewife without earning a dollar.
David had paid for everything.
He gave me 1,700 dollars a month for groceries, household supplies, and anything social that came up.
I had to think twice before I bought myself a shirt.
Nothing was in my name.
The house was David's, bought before the wedding, with only his name on the deed.
The car was in his name too.
I had no standing at all to claim the Rowe Family's money.
"Margaret, does any of this matter right now?" I said.
I lifted my head and met her eyes.
"Of course it matters!" Margaret snapped.
She marched over and grabbed the evidence bag with David's stuff right off the table.
She pulled out the wallet and the shattered phone and held on to them like her life depended on it.
"Everything that belonged to my son is the Rowe Family's! You're not getting a dime!" she shouted.
As she spoke, her eyes zeroed in on my hand.
I was still holding the black phone, the one I had just unlocked.
"What's that? Is that my son's as well? Give it here!" Margaret demanded.
She lunged forward, trying to grab it.
I jerked my hand back.
"You're not getting this," I said.
Margaret froze.
She had probably never expected the quiet one, the one who took everything without a word, to push back.
"What are you playing at? Emily, I'm warning you. Don't try anything with me," Margaret snapped.
"I said, you're not getting this," I repeated, clutching the phone tighter.
"There could be important company files on here, and I'm going to hand it to the police," I said.
That was a lie.
I didn't know what was in it, but I had a gut feeling something big was hidden there.
This phone could be my shield, and it could be my weapon.
"How dare you!" Margaret exploded, jabbing her finger right in my face as she cursed me out.
"You've got some nerve. You never even gave this family a decent life, and now you think you can defy me? Hand over the phone!" she screamed.
I looked at her, and when that insult landed, eight years of swallowed anger went quiet all at once.
What replaced them was a chilling clarity and icy calm.
Finally, I saw them for who they really were.
To them, I was never family.
I was a punching bag and a machine for producing heirs.
Now that their son was dead, my only remaining value was handing over whatever property might exist.
I stood up slowly, and I had half a head on her.
I looked down at her.
I said, "Margaret, David's things belong to me and to the kids.
"No one can take what belongs to us.
"And if it's not ours, I won't take a dime."
My voice wasn't loud, but every word was crystal clear.
Margaret was stunned by the look in my eyes, and for a moment, she forgot to make a scene.
"You dare talk to me like that?" she said.
I looked at her, a cold smile tugging at my lips.
"From today on, I call the shots in my own life," I said.