Chapter 13 - The Ruin of Brenda Foster
While Andrew and Gemma were drowning in the legal fallout,
the real architect of my misery was still trying to swim.
Brenda Foster was not a woman who gave up easily.
She had spent her life social climbing,
using her son’s career and my salary to buy her way into the upper echelons of San Antonio society.
But without my money,
her lifestyle was a house built on sand.
I was in my office at the hospital,
reviewing charts for the afternoon,
когда my secretary informed me that I had a visitor.
"She says she won't leave until she speaks with you, Doctor."
I knew it was her.
"Send her in,"
I said,
setting my pen down.
Brenda marched in,
but the fire in her eyes was dampened by desperation.
She wasn't wearing her usual designer labels.
She looked frayed at the edges.
"Samantha,"
she said,
her voice uncharacteristically soft.
"We need to be reasonable."
"Reasonable?"
I asked.
"You mocked me at my own wedding."
"You helped your son steal from me."
"You encouraged him to marry my best friend."
"Which part of that is reasonable, Brenda?"
She sat down,
her hands shaking as she clutched her handbag.
"Andrew is a good boy,"
she whined.
"He just got confused."
"And Gemma... she's young."
"They made a mistake."
"But you're a doctor!"
"You're successful!"
"You don't need that eighty thousand dollars."
"I need it, Samantha."
"The boutique... the creditors are calling."
"If you don't drop the lawsuit,"
"they’re going to take my house."
I looked at her,
and I realized that this was the woman I had tried so hard to please for two years.
I had bought her expensive gifts.
I had paid for her vacations.
I had listened to her insults with a smile,
thinking it was the price of being part of a family.
"It’s not about the money, Brenda,"
I said.
"It’s about the truth."
"You didn't just take my money."
"You tried to take my soul."
"You wanted to break me so that I would be a submissive little wife for your son."
"You wanted my paycheck, but you hated my power."
I leaned forward,
my voice dropping to a whisper.
"Well,"
"now you have neither."
"Please,"
she sobbed,
real tears finally falling.
"I'm an old woman."
"Where will I go?"
"I hear the suburbs have some very nice apartments,"
I said,
mimicking the tone she had used with me so many times.
"Maybe one near a hospital."
"So you can see what real work looks like."
She stood up,
her face contorting with rage.
"You'll regret this!"
"You're a monster, Samantha Miller!"
"No, Brenda,"
I said,
opening the door for her.
"I'm a surgeon."
"And I've just finished removing the cancer from my life."
She stormed out,
but she had nowhere to go.
Within a week,
her boutique was shuttered.
Within a month,
her house was on the market.
She had lost everything she had spent twenty years trying to hoard.
And for the first time,
I felt light.
The weight of the Fosters was finally off my shoulders.
But as I watched her leave,
I received a phone call that would change the trajectory of the entire scandal.
It was from the hospital’s IT department.
"Dr. Miller,"
the technician said.
"We were reviewing the phone logs from the morning of your wedding."
"The emergency call about the girl, Paisley?"
May you like
"There’s something you need to see."
"It wasn't a standard dispatch."
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