Chapter 2 - THE SILVER LOCKET
I touched the small silver locket resting against my collarbone.
It had belonged to my mother. Greg had fastened it around my neck three hours ago before we left for the restaurant, kissing my cheek and telling me how beautiful I looked.
Now, I felt sick to my stomach.
I unclasped the locket, the metal warm from my skin, and placed it gently on the white tablecloth next to my untouched cake.
"Linda," Greg started, reaching for my hand.
I pulled away so fast my water glass rattled.
"Don't," I said. My new hearing aids picked up the sharp intake of breath from my daughter, Rachel.
My sister, Sarah, stood up. She didn't look at Greg. She looked dead at Paula.
"Get out," Sarah said, her voice shaking with a quiet, terrifying rage. "Both of you. Get away from this table before I do something I’ll regret in front of my niece."
Paula grabbed her purse, her face flushed with humiliation as other patrons in the restaurant began to stare. Greg stood slowly, throwing a fifty-dollar bill onto the table.
"We'll talk about this at home, Linda," he muttered, trying to salvage some shred of his pride.
"There is nothing to talk about," I replied, keeping my eyes locked on the locket.
They walked out together. Paula kept her head down, but Greg walked with his shoulders stiff, playing the victim of a public scene.
Rachel slid into the empty chair beside me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. For the first time all night, I let myself cry. The tears were hot, angry, and humiliating.
"Mom," Rachel whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
An hour later, Sarah drove me back to the house I had shared with Greg for thirty-two years. His car wasn't in the driveway.
I walked into the kitchen, the silence of the empty house pressing against my ears. Before the hearing aids, the quiet had felt natural. Now, I could hear the hum of the refrigerator. The ticking of the hallway clock. The reality of my new life.
Sarah made tea while Rachel went upstairs to pack a bag for me. I couldn't stay here tonight.
"Mom?" Rachel called from the top of the stairs. Her voice was tight.
I hurried up to the master bedroom. Rachel was standing in front of Greg's open closet. He had clearly rushed in, grabbed a suitcase, and left. But in his haste, he had knocked a heavy, locked firebox off the top shelf.
The box had hit the hardwood floor and sprung open.
Rachel was holding a thick manila envelope that had spilled out.
"What is it?" I asked, my chest tightening.
She handed me the papers. "Mom... these are property deeds. But not for this house."
I pulled out the crisp, legally stamped pages. They were the deeds to my mother's home. She had left it to me when she passed away last November. It was supposed to be my safety net.
I flipped to the second page.
The property hadn't just been appraised. It had been leveraged. A second mortgage of $150,000 had been taken out against it in January.
"He forged my signature," I whispered, tracing the blue ink at the bottom of the page. It looked perfectly like my handwriting.
May you like
But it was the signature of the notary public on the next line that made my blood run cold.
It was stamped and signed by Paula.
