Chapter 4 - Returning to a Ghost Town
By sunrise, Frederick’s fever had broken. The pediatric nurse confirmed we could take him home later that afternoon, provided he continued oral antibiotics and rest.
Amy stayed at the hospital with him while I drove back to the house to pick up a fresh change of clothes, baby formula, and his favorite plush bear.
When I pulled into the driveway, the place looked entirely different in the harsh morning light. The colorful birthday banners my mother had hung were already sagging in the damp morning mist. The leftover seafood platters on the back patio had attracted a swarm of flies, and empty liquor bottles littered the recycling bins.
It didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a crime scene.
I unlocked the front door and walked inside. The kitchen was still a disaster zone. The cheap plastic stool Amy had been forced to sit on while holding our sick baby still sat beside the mountain of greasy pans and unwashed plates.
A wave of bitter rage washed over me. I grabbed a garbage bag and began sweeping the leftover food off the counters, throwing away the excess luxury items my mother had ordered with my hard-earned cash—imported caviar, expensive champagne, items Amy had never even tasted.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
The sharp, authoritative rapping at the front door made me freeze.
I walked through the living room and pulled the door open, expecting Detective Miller or a process server. Instead, standing on my porch was Arthur Vance, my mother’s long-time attorney—a slick, silver-haired man in a tailored charcoal suit who looked like he spent his life swimming with sharks.
May you like
"Mr. Bradley," Arthur said smoothly, stepping uninvited across the threshold before I could block his path. "I’m here to discuss a quiet, amicable resolution to this unfortunate misunderstanding."
---
