Chapter 4 - A Mother's Cold Justice
The tension in the room was so thick it felt like it could be cut with the silver carving knife on the table.
The children,
sensing the hostility directed at me by Isabella,
huddled closer together.
They were a unit,
a phalanx of four that had been forged in the fires of my struggle.
"I want them to leave,"
Isabella screamed,
her composure finally shattering.
"Marcus,
tell them to leave!
This is our day!
We are supposed to be celebrating!"
She looked at Patricia,
hoping for an ally,
but the older woman was transfixed by Sophia.
Sophia was the image of Marcus’s grandmother,
the one whose portrait hung in the hallway.
"They aren't going anywhere,"
Patricia said quietly,
her voice gaining strength.
"These are my grandchildren."
"Mother!"
Marcus shouted,
torn between his past and his future.
"They are strangers!"
I felt a cold prickle of anger at his words.
"Strangers?"
I repeated.
"They are your blood,
Marcus.
They are the only legacy you have,
and you just called them strangers."
I turned to my children,
my heart aching for the innocence they were losing in this moment.
"Kids,
go wait by the tree for a moment,"
I said softly.
"I need to speak to Mr. Reynolds."
They obeyed,
walking toward the massive spruce decorated in gold and white.
They looked like angels against the backdrop of a hellish family reunion.
Once they were out of earshot,
I turned back to Marcus,
my eyes flashing with years of suppressed rage.
"Eight years,"
I said,
my voice a low growl.
"Eight years of doctor appointments alone.
Eight years of sleepless nights with four crying babies.
Eight years of wondering how I would pay for four sets of clothes,
four tuitions,
four lives."
Marcus tried to speak,
but I held up a hand to silence him.
"You don't get to speak.
You don't get to apologize.
I didn't come here for a reconciliation."
I looked at Isabella,
who was fuming in the corner.
"You can have him,"
I told her.
"You can have a man who runs when things get difficult.
You can have a man who denies his own children to save his reputation."
I turned back to Marcus.
"I just wanted you to know that they exist.
I wanted you to see them every time you close your eyes.
I want their faces to be the last thing you think of when you realize how empty your life actually is."
Marcus reached out,
his fingers trembling as he tried to touch my sleeve.
"Kesha,
please.
Let me make it up to you."
I stepped back,
avoiding his touch as if it were a contagion.
"You can't,"
May you like
I said.
"There is no price high enough to buy back the time you lost."
