PART 8 — The shocking discovery
The silence that fell in the living room was so thick you could hear a pin drop. Outside, rain hammered against the window, but inside the temperature seemed to drop to freezing. Mark sank to his knees on the sofa, burying his face in his hands.
“How... how could Dad do this?” he whispered brokenly. “I thought... I thought he wanted me to have this house for the kids.”
“Dad wanted you to be a good son, Mark,” I said, and for the first time a deep, painful disappointment sounded through my voice that cut harder than any knife. “He wanted you to care for the family, instead of using the family as a stepping stone for your own status. You never learned what love costs, because we made everything too easy for you.”
Sarah, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth in the small space, her eyes shooting fire at her husband. “And now? What does this mean for our house? What does this mean for the renovation, for the mortgage application we have to submit next week?”
“It means you have to hand in the keys at the notary's office tomorrow,” I said coolly, standing up from the chair. I walked over to the cabinet, picked up the small family photo of Willem and myself, and tucked it into my handbag. “And it means you have to find a place of your own, exactly like I had to do today.”
Mark looked up, his eyes red from rising tears. “Mom... please. You can't just put us out on the street? We're your family!”
I stopped moving and looked him straight in the eyes. The exact same words he had said to me that morning echoed through the room.
“Listen, Mark,” I said softly. “You can't expect me to build my whole life around your mistakes. I have an age. I have peace. I have responsibilities.”
Those words hit home; Mark gasped for air as if physically struck.
