Chapter 3 - The Eviction Notice
The emergency room visit cost us three hours and five stitches along my right palm. Ethan stayed glued to my side the entire time, holding my left hand while the nurse cleaned the wound and the doctor numbed the jagged cut. He didn’t offer excuses for his family. He didn’t ask me to let it go. Every time he looked at the bandages, the fury behind his eyes burned deeper.
By the time we drove back into our subdivision, it was nearly midnight. The neighborhood was quiet, the manicured lawns bathed in the warm glow of street lamps. I had half-expected Patricia and Nicole to dig their heels in, barricade themselves inside the guest suite, and call every relative in a three-state radius to complain.
Instead, our driveway was littered with open suitcases, half-zipped duffle bags, and three giant garbage bags stuffed with designer clothes.
Patricia was sitting on the hood of her Lexus, furiously tapping away on her phone, while Nicole sobbed hysterically into a pink cashmere blanket. Two men in uniform were standing near the porch—our local deputies, whom Ethan had formally notified before we left the hospital.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vance?” Deputy Davis approached as Ethan parked our SUV. “We supervised the removal of their essential belongings as requested. No forced entry, no property damage, though the older woman did attempt to take several pieces of silverware claiming they were family heirlooms.”
“They belong to my late grandmother,” I said tiredly, stepping out of the vehicle with my bandaged hand held against my chest. “None of it belongs to her.”
“They’re locked in the trunk of their car, ma'am. We made sure they only took personal clothing and toiletries,” Deputy Davis said.
Patricia marched toward us, her manicured nails digging into the strap of her oversized handbag. “Ethan! Tell these officers to back off! This is public humiliation! Do you have any idea what the neighbors will say? The Henderson family across the street was watching from their window!”
“The Hendersons already know you’re a nightmare, Mom,” Ethan said, stepping between Patricia and me. “You parked over their hydrangeas twice last week and told Mrs. Henderson her yard looked like a trailer park. You don’t have any friends on this street.”
“You are making the biggest mistake of your life!” Patricia shrieked, her mask completely slipping. Her eyes darted to my bandaged hand, but there was not a trace of remorse—only venom. “You throw away your blood for a woman who controls your every breath! You think you’re a big man? You’re pathetic! She bought you, Ethan! You’re nothing but her lapdog!”
“Keep talking, Patricia,” I said, speaking up for the first time that night. My voice was steady, cutting through her hysterics like a razor. “Every single word is being recorded by the body cameras on these deputies. Keep screaming, and I’ll have Deputy Davis add harassment and witness intimidation to the assault charges I’m filing on Monday morning.”
Patricia snapped her mouth shut so fast her teeth clicked. She looked at the deputies, whose hands were resting comfortably on their duty belts, completely unimpressed by her country-club dramatics.
Nicole waddled over, tears streaming down her contoured cheeks. “Ethan, please. My ankles are swollen. I’m carrying your niece. Just let me sleep in the pool house. Just for tonight.”
May you like
“The answer is no, Nicole,” Ethan replied without a shred of hesitation. “Call Marcus. Call your friends. Check into a motel. You two wanted to treat my wife like dirt in her own home? Now you can figure out your own lives without her dime.”
With the deputies watching, Patricia gave one final, hateful glare before climbing into the driver’s seat of her Lexus. Nicole slammed the passenger door with enough force to rock the car. They backed out of our driveway at high speed, tires screeching against the asphalt as they disappeared into the night.
