“You gave me money because you were too busy building your empire to be a mother!” Lydia snapped, her voice raising. “You think buying me things makes up for you always being at the office? You think this beach makes you a good mom?”
“I did my best,” I whispered, the old guilt flaring up—the guilt every working mother knows.
“Your best isn’t enough anymore,” Lydia said coldly. “Marcus is my family now. You’re just… the bank.”
“And banks can be foreclosed on,” Marcus added with a sneer. “Here is the deal, Eleanor. You sign the transfer, and we let you walk Lydia down the aisle. We let you play the doting mother for the cameras. You get to keep your dignity.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we leave,” Marcus said. “And I promise you, Eleanor, you will never see your future grandchildren. I will make sure Lydia cuts you out completely. You’ll die alone in this big, empty house, just like a sad, old widow.”
Lydia nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Mom. You’re getting old. You’re becoming a burden. Honestly, you should pay us just for the privilege of staying relevant. Maybe you should look into a retirement community. Somewhere quiet where you won’t embarrass us with your outdated morals.”
A burden.
The word hung in the air like toxic smoke.
I looked at my daughter. I looked for the little girl who used to try on my heels and beg me to braid her hair. I looked for the teenager who cried on my shoulder when she didn’t make the cheerleading squad.
She wasn’t there. In her place was a stranger wearing a million-dollar dress, looking at me with absolute contempt.
“You want me to pay for the privilege of being invisible,” I stated slowly.
“Exactly,” Marcus smiled. “Now you’re catching on.”
I looked down at the sand beneath my feet. I looked at the champagne in Lydia’s hand.
“You didn’t realize something, Lydia,” I said softly, my voice hardening into steel. “The sand beneath your feet, the champagne in your hand, and the very air in your groom’s lungs are all subsidized by the woman you just called a ‘burden’.”
“Spare me the drama,” Marcus snapped. “Do we have a deal or not? You have ten minutes to decide. We’ll be waiting at the altar.”
They turned and walked out of the tent, back into the sunshine, leaving me standing in the shadows.
Chapter 3: The Matriarch’s Fury
I stood frozen for a full minute. The pain in my chest was agonizing—the specific, visceral pain of a mother realizing her child has turned against her. It felt like labor pains, but in reverse; instead of bringing life into the world, I felt something dying.
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