Chapter 5 - The Summoning
Two weeks later, the hospital discharged me with strict orders for bed rest at home.
The nursery was finally finished—soft gray walls, a white crib, a bookshelf filled with classic fairy tales, and a comfortable rocking chair where Theo spent an hour every evening reading out loud to my stomach while Claire kicked in enthusiastic approval.
We thought the dust had settled.
We were wrong.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, the intercom at the security gate of our building buzzed.
The lobby concierge called up to our unit with a hesitant tone. “Mr. Castellin? There’s a visitor downstairs for Mrs. Castellin. She… well, she doesn't have an appointment, and she’s refusing to leave.”
Theo took the phone from my hand. “Who is it?”
“It’s Mrs. Renata Castellin, sir. She says if Mrs. Naomi doesn't come down to speak with her, she’s going to sit in the lobby until the police remove her.”
I looked up from the baby blanket I was folding. “She’s still trying to bully her way through this.”
“Let her sit in the lobby,” Theo said coldly into the intercom. “Call building security and have her escorted off the premises immediately.”
“Wait,” I said, standing up slowly and resting a hand on my lower back.
Theo looked at me sharply. “Naomi, you are not going down there to deal with her.”
“I’m not going down there to fight with her,” I replied, my voice calm and resolute. “I’m going down there to finish this. Once and for all.”
Theo studied my face for five seconds—evaluating my resolve, measuring the risk, calculating every possible outcome. Then he nodded once.
“I’m coming with you.”
When we stepped out of the elevator into the marble-floored lobby of our building, my mother looked like a ghost of her former self.
Her hair was unstyled, her designer coat was rumpled, and she was sitting stiffly on a velvet bench while two building security guards stood a polite distance away, watching her like hawks.
When she saw me walk out from the elevator leaning slightly on Theo’s arm, her face lit up with desperate, frantic energy.
“Naomi!” she cried out, rushing forward before the security guards stepped instinctively into her path. “Naomi, please! You have to talk to Arthur! They’re freezing my grocery accounts! They’re threatening to seize my car! Bianca is crying in her apartment because her landlords are evicting her!”
I stopped ten feet away from her. I didn't look angry. I didn't look triumphant. I looked at her with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a specimen under a microscope.
“You’re talking to the wrong person, Mom,” I said quietly.
“I’m your mother!” she sobbed, pressing her hands together in a theatrical gesture of supplication that used to work on me when I was ten years old. “We’re family! How can you destroy your own family over a financial dispute? A mistake!”
“A mistake?” I repeated.
I stepped closer, ignoring Theo’s warning hand on my elbow.
“You didn't make a mistake when you forged my signature on the warehouse deed, Mom. You didn't make a mistake when you stole my inheritance to fund Bianca’s lifestyle. And you certainly didn't make a mistake when you shoved an eight-month pregnant woman into a glass table.”
Renata’s expression flickered, the mask of maternal martyrdom slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal the cold, calculating narcissist underneath.
“You’ve always been jealous of your sister,” she hissed, her voice dropping into a venomous whisper. “From the day she was born, you’ve tried to take everything away from her just because you couldn't stand not being the center of attention!”
I smiled. It was the first time I had ever smiled at my mother without fear.
“Keep telling yourself that, Mom,” I said softly. “It’ll give you something to think about while you’re waiting for your court-appointed public defender.”
Before she could scream another accusation, Theo stepped between us, his massive frame completely blocking her view of me.
“Mr. and Mrs. Castellin’s legal representation will handle all future communications,” Theo said, his voice ringing with absolute finality. “If you attempt to contact my wife or approach this property again, I will personally ensure that every civil lawsuit we’ve filed becomes a criminal indictment.”
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He didn't wait for her answer. He turned, placed his arm securely around my waist, and guided me back toward the private elevator.
As the elevator doors closed, cutting off the sound of my mother’s frantic, impotent screaming, I rested my head against Theo’s shoulder and let out the deepest, most complete sigh of my entire life.
