Chapter 2 - The Returning Storm
The SUV pulled into our Franklin driveway at 8:45 PM. The house was dark except for the porch light and the soft yellow glow of the kitchen window. As we walked up the front steps, I could hear the faint murmur of television voices coming from the living room.
When I pushed the front door open, the scent of lavender cleaner and baked casserole hit my senses.
My mother and Taryn were sitting on the sectional sofa. Taryn was scrolling through her phone while Mom knitted something pink—ironically, for our unborn daughter.
Mom looked up over her reading glasses, her expression a mix of righteous annoyance and feigned concern. “Well. You’re finally back. We were wondering if you two were going to stop for dinner. Taryn made a pot roast, but it’s practically dried out now.”
Taryn didn't even look up from her screen. “Honestly, making a big deal out of a little dizziness. Typical drama.”
I didn't answer right away. I helped Noelle walk carefully to our bedroom, settled her against a mountain of pillows with a fresh glass of ice water, and told her to stay put.
When I walked back out into the hallway, my mother was standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed.
“Evan, what is wrong with you?” Mom demanded in a stage whisper so as not to wake the whole house. “Dragging your poor wife to the emergency room for nothing. You’re spoiling her. When I was pregnant with you—sickness or no sickness—I was up scrubbing baseboards until my water broke.”
I stopped dead in my tracks a few feet from her. The anger that had been simmering in my chest all evening finally boiled over, turning cold and sharp.
“You didn't scrub baseboards at eight months pregnant in a hundred-degree unventilated storage room,” I said, each word spaced out like a blow from a hammer.
Mom blinked, momentarily taken aback by my tone. “It was just a bit of tidying! That room has been a disaster since you bought this house. Someone had to get it done before the baby arrives. We were doing her a favor.”
“A favor?” I stepped closer, my voice rising. “You nearly put my wife and my daughter in the hospital! And then I find out you’ve been running her ragged for nine days—treating her like an unpaid servant while I’m at work!”
Taryn stepped out of the living room, tossing her hands in the air. “Oh, please! Stop being so dramatic! She’s just lazy. Ever since she got pregnant, she uses it as an excuse to do nothing. We were just helping her build some resilience!”
“Resilience?” I turned on my sister, my eyes blazing. “You sat on the couch drinking iced tea while she collapsed on a concrete floor! You watched her suffocate in the heat!”
“Well, she finished the laundry, didn't she?” Taryn snapped back, her arrogance refusing to yield.
That was the exact moment I realized neither of them felt an ounce of remorse. To them, Noelle wasn't family; she was an intruder they had permission to break.
“Pack your bags,” I said quietly.
Mom stared at me, her mouth dropping open. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Both of you. You are leaving tonight.”
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“Evan James Calder!” Mom shrieked, her face turning crimson. “You are throwing your own mother and sister out of your house in the middle of the night over a hysterical pregnant girl? Have you lost your mind?”
“My bags are packed,” I said, pointing toward the guest room door. “Or I will pack them for you and put them on the front lawn. Take your pick.”
