Chapter 7 - Cleaning House
Two days later, Frederick was discharged from the hospital, his fever completely broken and his little smile returning in full force. We brought him back to a house that felt entirely different.
The police had cleared out the remaining debris from the ill-fated party, and I had immediately changed every single lock on the doors and windows. The smart security system I installed that evening sent instant alerts straight to my phone, blocking any unauthorized access permanently.
Teresa had spent the weekend in a municipal holding cell, unable to post bail because her own bank accounts were temporarily frozen under a federal fraud investigation initiated by my attorney. My aunt Betsy, Mason, and the rest of the freeloaders had scattered like roaches when the lights came on, realizing that backing Teresa’s illegal scheme meant sharing her legal liability.
On Tuesday morning, I sat at our kitchen table—the very kitchen where Amy had been forced to scrub dishes while caring for a sick baby—drinking a cup of hot coffee with my wife.
“The locks are changed,” I told her gently, placing my mug down. “No one gets into this house without our explicit permission. Mom’s number is blocked on both our phones, and her legal team has been served with a permanent restraining order.”
Amy looked up from her coffee cup, tears of gratitude shining in her eyes. She stood up, walked around the table, and threw her arms tightly around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder.
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“Thank you, Connor,” she sobbed softly. “I was so scared we were going to lose everything.”
“We lost nothing that mattered, sweetheart,” I murmured, holding her close. “We cut out the rot. And now, we finally have our home back.”
