Chapter 2 - The Maple Street Key
The drive to Maple Street took twenty-four minutes. I didn't go in Michael’s car; I stayed behind in the kitchen with Mom, who was pacing back and forth across the linoleum floor, muttering curses under her breath and occasionally glaring at me like I was a demon incarnate.
"You've destroyed everything," Mom hissed, stopping by the sink to grip the edges. "Your sister had a bright future. She was trying to better herself, and you had to tear her down out of jealousy."
"Jealousy of what, Mom?" I asked, sitting down at the table and pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee. "Jealousy of her lying? Jealousy of her dumping her kids on me while she lives a double life? Listen to yourself. You’ve enabled her for so long that you can't even recognize reality anymore."
"She’s your sister!" Mom shrieked, slamming her palm against the counter. "Families stick together! When your father died, I told you both that we had to protect each other. But you? You’ve always been cold. Just like your father's side of the family—heartless, unyielding, and selfish."
Hearing her weaponize Dad’s memory cut deep, but I held my ground. I didn't flinch. I took a slow sip of the bitter coffee and looked right back at her.
"Dad wasn't heartless, Mom. And he certainly wouldn't have watched you turn me into an unpaid servant just so Rachel could play house on the weekends."
Before Mom could fire back, the heavy front door swung open.
Michael walked in first. His face was completely devoid of color, his jaw set so tightly a muscle twitched near his cheek. Behind him, Rachel walked with her head bowed down, her hair hanging in wet strands across her face because she had been crying hard enough to ruin her makeup completely.
Michael didn't say a word to Mom. He walked straight past her, pulled a set of silver keys from his jacket pocket, and dropped them heavily onto the center of the kitchen table. They clattered against the wood, the sound echoing loudly in the tense room.
"An apartment," Michael said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Paid for in cash. Two bedrooms, fully furnished. With a man's clothes hanging in the master closet."
Mom froze. Her pacing stopped instantly. She slowly turned her head toward Rachel. "A... a man? Rachel, what is Michael talking about? Who are you seeing?"
Rachel didn't look up. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, her shoulders shaking.
"It's not just a man, Mom," Michael continued, walking over to the refrigerator and leaning against it, crossing his arms. "It's Marcus Vance."
The kitchen seemed to drop another ten degrees.
My own breath caught in my throat. Marcus Vance? As in Marcus Vance, the executive director of the local real estate conglomerate—the man who was married to the city councilwoman, the man with three children of his own in private school?
"Marcus?" Mom whispered, her hands flying to cover her mouth. "No. No, Marcus Vance is a married man. He's twice her age! Rachel, tell me that's not true!"
"He treats me like a person!" Rachel suddenly screamed, finally snapping under the crushing weight of the exposure. She looked up, her eyes bloodshot and wild with fury and desperation. "You think I wanted this life? You think I wanted to be a single mother at twenty-two, stuck in this suffocating house while everyone watched me fail? Marcus saw me! He gave me a life where I didn't have to worry about diapers, crying toddlers, or bills! He gave me a world where I mattered!"
"And what about your own children?" I asked, standing up from my chair, my voice trembling with a mixture of disgust and sorrow. "Did they matter when you were off living your fantasy on the weekends? Did you ever stop to think about Leo and Maya crying for their mother while I rocked them to sleep and lied to them, telling them you were working hard to build a good life for them?"
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"Shut up!" Rachel lunged toward me again, but Michael moved with surprising speed, grabbing her arm and holding her back with a firm, immovable grip.
"Enough," Michael commanded. He looked at Rachel with a profound sense of disappointment that cut far deeper than any anger. "The double life ends today. The apartment lease is being broken tomorrow. And those children... those children are going to have their mother present seven days a week, starting right now."
