Chapter 13: The Ultimatum
We sprang apart as if we had been burned. Ben quickly turned his back, pretending to adjust the blankets in Maya's crib, while I busied myself checking Leo's diaper. My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I thought it might crack them.
Footsteps ascended the stairs. My mother appeared in the doorway of the nursery, wearing a trench coat dripping with rainwater, holding a large, insulated bag.
"Mom," I gasped, trying to keep my voice steady. "What are you doing here at two in the morning?"
Her eyes instantly darted between Ben and me. She possessed a terrifying, instinctual radar for guilt. She took in my flushed cheeks, Ben's rigid posture, and the charged, heavy silence in the room.
"The storm woke me up," she said, her tone icy and deliberate. "I knew the babies would be frightened. I brought some extra breast milk from the donor bank. It seems I arrived just in time."
"Thank you, Eleanor," Ben said, finally turning around. His voice was neutral, entirely stripped of the passion from moments ago. "But we have it handled. You shouldn't be driving in this weather."
My mother slowly walked into the room, placing the insulated bag on the changing table. She looked at the babies, then turned her piercing gaze onto me.
"You need to move out," she said.
The words dropped like anvils on the nursery floor.
"What?" I asked, my grip on Leo tightening defensively.
"You heard me," she snapped, no longer bothering to hide her disdain. "The twins are a month old. They are sleeping in longer stretches. Ben is perfectly capable of handling them on his own now, or he can hire a night nurse. I will pay for it. But you need to leave this house."
"Eleanor, that's completely unnecessary," Ben interjected, stepping forward. "She is their aunt. She loves them. She's a huge help."
"She is a liability!" my mother practically spat, her composure finally fracturing. She pointed a manicured finger at Ben. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't feel the tension in this room? Rosie knew it. That's why she wrote that will. She knew you two were waiting for her to die so you could play house with her children!"
"That is a disgusting thing to say," I shot back, the anger finally eclipsing my fear. "I am here because my sister's children need me."
"Your sister is dead!" my mother screamed, the raw grief tearing through her anger for a fleeting second. "And I will not let you desecrate her memory by sleeping in her husband's bed. You pack your things tomorrow. If you do not leave this house by noon, I am calling Mr. Vance, and I am filing an emergency petition for custody based on violations of the morality clause. I will take these children from you, Ben, and you will never see them again."
She didn't wait for a response. She turned on her heel and marched out of the room. The front door slammed shut a minute later, shaking the entire house.
Ben collapsed into the rocking chair, dropping his head into his hands. We were cornered. The threat wasn't a vague possibility anymore; it was an active countdown.
"I have to go," I whispered, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. "If I stay, she'll take them."
"If you leave, they win," Ben said, looking up at me with dead, defeated eyes. "Rosie wins. Your mother wins. They trap me in this house alone, raising children born from blackmail, while I lose the only person I have ever loved."
I looked around the nursery. The pastel walls felt like a prison. My sister had designed this room. She had designed this entire scenario.
But as I looked at the Victorian dollhouse visible through the hallway door, a dangerous, radical thought began to take root in my mind. We had been playing defense for seven years. We had been cowering, hiding, and sacrificing everything to protect my parents from the truth and Ben from the law.
But my mother was threatening to take the children anyway.
Mutually assured destruction.
"No," I said, my voice dropping to a hard, steely whisper. "I'm not leaving. And they aren't taking the kids."
May you like
Ben frowned. "What are you talking about? We have no leverage. The will is legally binding."
"The will is binding," I agreed, walking over to the changing table and gently laying Leo down. I turned to look at Ben, the fear completely gone, replaced by a cold, searing clarity. "But my parents' pride is fragile. It's time they learned exactly who their perfect daughter really was."
