Chapter 2 - The Voice on the Speaker

The night air was cool and sharp as I carried Mia down the long, winding driveway of the Vance Mansion. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. The sound of shouting and shattering glass from inside the house told me everything I needed to know.

I strapped Mia into her car seat in the back of my ten-year-old sedan. She was clutching her chest where Sarah had kicked her, her small breaths hitching with residual sobs.

“Mommy?” she whispered, looking at me with large, tear-filled eyes. “Are we going to be homeless again?”

My heart shattered into a million pieces. I leaned in and kissed her forehead, smoothing back her hair.

“Never again, sweetie,” I promised her fiercely. “We are never going back to a place where people hurt us. You are safe. I will always protect you.”

I got into the driver’s seat and drove to the edge of the property, parking just out of sight behind the wrought-iron gates. I wasn't leaving until I saw it with my own eyes.

I didn't have to wait long.

Twelve minutes later, three police cruisers came tearing down the street, their red and blue lights flashing violently in the dark, sirens blaring. They pulled through the open gates and parked haphazardly on the front lawn, doors flying open.

Through the trees, I watched the spectacle unfold.

The front doors of the mansion burst open, and the guests began pouring out in a panic, covering their faces and rushing to their expensive cars. The "Grand Reopening" party had turned into a crime scene.

Then, I saw them.

Two police officers were escorting Sarah out of the house. She was thrashing wildly, screaming obscenities, her designer dress torn at the shoulder.

“Get your hands off me! I’m the owner! She’s lying!” Sarah shrieked, her heels digging into the gravel.

“Ma’am, we have verified the deed with the county,” the officer barked, shoving her firmly toward the sidewalk. “You are trespassing on private property. If you do not leave the premises immediately, you will be arrested for breaking and entering.”

My mother trailed behind them, carrying a single suitcase she had hurriedly packed. Margaret Vance, the woman who had spent her entire life obsessed with appearances and high society, looked utterly destroyed. Her makeup was smeared, and she was crying hysterically, begging the officers.

“Please, this is my home! My daughter bought it!” Margaret sobbed.

“Your daughter Elena bought it, ma'am. And she wants you gone,” the officer replied coldly.

They pushed Sarah and Margaret past the gates and slammed the heavy iron doors shut, locking them from the inside.

My mother and sister were left standing on the dark sidewalk in their expensive gowns, surrounded by the judging eyes of the last few guests driving away. Sarah kicked the iron gate, screaming my name into the night.