“If you don’t delete it,” she said finally, “I’ll make sure your daughter is never welcome in my home again.”
I actually laughed. “Evelyn, that’s the best news you’ve ever given me.”
She gasped, but I didn’t wait for her response. I hung up.
Michael looked at me from across the room. “Did you just—?”
“Oh, I did,” I said, tossing my phone onto the couch. “And I have no regrets.”
For the first time in years, he didn’t try to play peacemaker. He just nodded and said, “Good.”
Over the next few days, Evelyn’s pristine social circle started to crumble. Word spread fast, and people finally saw her for who she really was. She tried to regain control, of course. Posted a few self-righteous messages about “misunderstandings” and “family drama.” But no one bought it.
A week later, I found an envelope in my mailbox with no return address. It just had my name on it. Inside was a short note that read, “Perhaps I went too far. I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt her or you. I’m sorry.”
