Chapter 3 - The Morning After the Storm
Christmas morning arrived with a blinding, pristine whiteness. The storm had passed, leaving the world outside buried under a thick blanket of snow. Inside the Colonel’s house, the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air.
Sophie woke up early, running into the living room with the pure, untainted joy of a four-year-old on Christmas morning. She squealed with delight finding a beautifully decorated tree, surrounded by wrapped gifts that Arthur had quietly prepared over the past few weeks. For a few hours, Nora managed to forget the nightmare of the previous night. She watched her daughter unwrap a handmade wooden dollhouse that Arthur had spent months crafting in his workshop.
"Look, Mommy! Grandpa made a tiny kitchen!" Sophie giggled, showing off a miniature wooden table.
"It's beautiful, sweetheart," Nora smiled, kissing the top of Sophie's head. She looked up at her father, who was sipping coffee by the window, watching them with a gentle warmth that contrasted sharply with the hardened soldier he had been the night before.
However, the peace was shattered at precisely ten in the morning. Nora’s phone, which had been silent all night, began to buzz violently on the kitchen counter. She walked over and looked at the screen.
Evan.
Nora felt a momentary tightening in her chest, but she caught her father’s steady gaze from across the room. She took a deep breath and answered, putting it on speakerphone.
"Nora," Evan’s voice came through, loud and dripping with condescension. There was no hint of remorse, no panic, no concern for his daughter's safety. "I see you made it to your father’s little cottage. Good. Saves me the trouble of wondering which cheap motel you crawled into."
"Evan," Nora said, her voice remarkably flat. "You threw your daughter into a blizzard."
"Oh, please. Don't be dramatic," Evan scoffed. "My mother packed plenty of warm clothes for her. You chose to walk out into the storm instead of waiting for an Uber. Listen, I'm calling because Bianca and I are restructuring the house layout today. Your remaining things—the books, the old clothes, your junk—have been moved to the garage. You can have your father bring his old truck to pick them up next week. Don't come yourself. It will only make things awkward for Bianca."
Nora clenched her fist, but before she could speak, a sharp, older woman's voice chimed in from the background. It was Sylvia.
"Make sure she knows she has until Friday, Evan! We are converting her old dressing room into Bianca’s vanity suite. And tell her the lawyers will be sending the formal separation papers by Monday. She shouldn't expect a single penny of alimony. That prenuptial agreement she signed ensures she leaves exactly how she entered this family: broke."
Evan chuckled softly. "You heard my mother, Nora. Don't make this difficult. Just sign the papers when they arrive, and maybe I'll let you keep the old SUV you drive."
Arthur stepped forward, leaning down toward the phone. His voice was like a low rumble of thunder. "Evan."
The line went quiet for a moment. Evan cleared his throat, his arrogant tone wavering just a fraction. "Colonel. I assume you're hosting your daughter. Look, I respect your age, but this is a private matter between—"
"You will receive a delivery tomorrow morning at nine o'clock," Arthur interrupted, ignoring Evan completely. "I suggest you and your mother be present at the Ward Logistics headquarters to receive it. It is a Christmas gift from the Ellis family."
"What are you talking about?" Evan demanded, sounding annoyed. "We don't want anything from you. We're moving on."
"Nine o'clock, Evan," Arthur repeated, and hung up the phone.
May you like
He looked at Nora, who was staring at the blank screen. "He hasn't changed a bit," she whispered. "Still as arrogant as the day I met him."
"Arrogance is a terminal disease in business, Nora," Arthur said quietly. "And Evan is in the final stages. Come, let’s help Sophie with her new toys. Today belongs to us. Tomorrow belongs to the lawyers."
