Chapter 5 - The Midnight Visit
When Diane walked into my penthouse, she looked like a ghost that had wandered into a palace. Her eyes darted wildly across the thirty-foot ceilings, the modern minimalist art hanging on the walls, the marble fireplace, and the sweeping panoramic view of the harbor below.
This was the first time she had ever set foot in my home. For eight years, she had refused every invitation to visit, claiming my apartment was "too far" or that she "didn't want to leave Vanessa home alone."
Now, she stood on the plush wool rug, shivering despite the mild room temperature, clutching an old cardboard shoebox against her chest.
"Ethan..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "My God. Look at this place. Look at what you've built."
"Sit down, Diane," I said, gesturing to the armchair opposite my desk. I didn't call her Mom. I hadn't called her that in ten years, and the coldness of the name hit her like a physical blow.
She sank into the chair, clutching the shoebox tighter. "Ethan, you have to stop this. You have to call the district attorney. Vanessa is sitting in a cage with criminals, murderers, drug addicts! She's terrified! She’s your little sister!"
"She's twenty-six years old, Diane," I replied without raising my voice. "She committed a felony. She assaulted me in a public dining room. And worse, she has systematically bankrupted you and Robert for half a decade."
Diane waved her hand dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying fly. "Money is just money! Family is what matters! What did we ever do to you that was so terrible? What made you this cold? We clothed you! We put a roof over your head! We gave you an education!"
I let out a soft, bitter laugh. "An education? I worked thirty hours a week at a car wash from the age of sixteen to pay for my own books and clothes. I took out federal loans and worked three jobs through college while you bought Vanessa a brand-new convertible for her sixteenth birthday."
"Because she had anxiety!" Diane cried out defensively. "She was fragile! You were always independent, Ethan! You never needed us!"
"I needed a mother!" I slammed my palm against the desk, the sudden crack echoing off the glass walls. Diane flinched, shrinking back into the leather seat.
"I needed a father," I continued, my voice dropping back to a lethal, trembling whisper. "When I had pneumonia at seventeen and nearly died in the hospital, neither of you visited because Vanessa had an audition for a regional dance troupe. When I started my first logistics company and slept on the floor of a warehouse for six months eating instant noodles, you told the relatives I was a wandering failure who had abandoned the family."
"We didn't know—"
"You didn't ask!" I cut her off. "You never once asked if I was okay. You only called when Vanessa’s rent was late, or when her car broke down, or when she wanted an expensive vacation. And tonight, when she poured sauce over my head and struck me in the face, you laughed. Both of you laughed."
Diane’s face paled. She looked down at the shoebox in her lap, her fingers clawing at the tattered cardboard edges.
"I... I brought this," she stammered, pulling off the lid with shaking hands. "I thought... if you saw these, you’d remember. You’d remember who we were."
Inside the box were old drawings from elementary school, a clay handprint from kindergarten, and a silver pocket watch that had belonged to my grandfather.
"Your grandfather wanted you to have this," Diane said, pushing the pocket watch across the polished desk. "He always said you were the one who carried the family grit. Ethan, please. If you don't drop the charges, Robert is going to file for bankruptcy tomorrow. The house will go to auction. We’ll be out on the street. Do you really want to destroy your parents?"
I looked at the silver watch. It was tarnished, neglected, just like every memory associated with that house.
"You destroyed yourselves, Diane," I said, sliding the watch back toward her without touching it. "You poured everything into a bottomless pit of vanity named Vanessa. And now the pit is empty, and so are your hands."
I pressed the intercom button on my desk. "Vance. Escort Mrs. Miller out."
"Ethan, please!" Diane screamed as the heavy security doors opened. She fell to her knees on the rug, weeping, clutching the shoebox against her ribs. "She won't survive prison! Ethan! Look at me!"
May you like
"I am looking at you," I whispered as Vance gently took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "And for the first time in my life, I don't feel anything at all."
***
