Chapter 2 - He Took Us To His Home—And Told Us The Truth About Michael**
Richard’s car was long, black, and quiet.
I sat in the backseat, holding all three girls close as the mansion disappeared behind us.
Olivia buried her face in my neck, Grace clutched my hand, and Lily fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted from the cold and fear.
Richard didn’t speak during the drive.
He just glanced back at us every few minutes, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
We arrived at a large, warm house on the edge of the city.
Not cold and grand like the Whitmore mansion, but bright, with big windows and soft carpets and rooms that looked like they were actually lived in.
A housekeeper named Clara greeted us at the door, her face kind.
She already had warm soup, blankets, and clean clothes waiting.
She led the girls to a bathroom with a big tub full of warm water, and then to three small, beautiful bedrooms side by side, each with a bed covered in soft sheets and stuffed animals waiting on the pillows.
For the first time in six years, my daughters didn’t sleep on a thin mattress on a cold floor.
For the first time in six years, I didn’t lie awake listening for Margaret’s angry footsteps.
After the girls were asleep, Richard found me in the kitchen, staring at a mug of hot tea I hadn’t touched.
“Are you all right?” he asked, sitting across from me.
I nodded, though my hands were still shaking.
“Why are you doing this? You don’t know us.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I knew Michael. He was my godson. I raised him after his parents died when he was twelve.”
My breath caught.
Michael had never talked much about his godfather.
He’d only said the man was wealthy and very private, and that they’d lost touch after he married Margaret’s son.
“I set up a trust fund for him when he turned eighteen,” Richard continued, his voice tight with anger.
“Thirty million dollars. Plus the life insurance policy, the townhouse you two bought together, and a dozen other assets. All of it was supposed to go to you and the girls if anything happened to him.”
I felt the room spin.
Thirty million dollars.
Margaret had told me Michael left nothing but debt.
She’d told me I was lucky she let us stay in the storage room.
“Margaret stole all of it,” I whispered.
“She forged documents,” Richard said, his jaw tight.
“She told me you’d run off with another man, taken the girls, and wanted nothing to do with the family or the money. I had investigators looking for you for years. I never stopped. When I heard Michael’s name mentioned at the luncheon today, when I saw you and those girls… I knew immediately who you were.”
He reached across the table and gently touched the bruise on my arm.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I’m sorry she did this to all of you.”
Tears spilled down my face then.
Not sad tears, exactly.
Relieved tears.
Angry tears.
Tears for all the years we’d suffered, all the cold nights, all the times my girls went hungry while Margaret spent Michael’s money on designer gowns and fancy parties.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
May you like
Richard’s eyes were hard and determined.
“Now we get back everything she stole. Now we make her pay for what she did to you and those girls. And I promise you, Emily—she will never hurt any of you again.”
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