My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
My mother adjusted her heavy pearl necklace, her fingers digging into the beads. “There is nothing to discuss with a trespasser and a daughter who has lost her mind.”
“Sit down, Christopher,” I said, pulling out a chair.
Christopher sat. He did not look at the food. He looked at the center of the table, his face quiet and gray in the daylight.
My father stopped tapping his fingers. He looked at the blue folder, then at me. “What is this, Mia?”
“These are the records from the county archives,” I said, opening the folder. “And the insurance filings from the state board.”
My mother stood up, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. “David, call the sheriff. I want them out of my house.”
My father did not move. He reached out and touched the edge of the blue folder with one thick finger. “Let her speak, Olivia.”
“She is bringing a vagrant into our dining room to threaten us,” my mother said.
“He is not a vagrant,” I said. “He is the carpenter whose shop you paid to destroy.”
