Chapter 4 - The Departure of the King
By 8:45 AM, the silver Mercedes was gone from the driveway, replaced only by the cold, biting wind sweeping down from the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Grant Holloway stood on the front porch of the Myers Park estate for the last time. He wore a heavy wool overcoat, his breath pluming white in the freezing air. Behind him, a single designer duffel bag sat on the limestone floor—all that remained of his four-year reign as the master of the house.
Through the sidelight window of the front door, he could see Claire standing in the foyer.
She wore a simple, elegant navy cashmere sweater, her silver hair catching the morning light as she stood with one hand resting against her swollen stomach. She didn't look angry. She didn't look triumphant. She looked completely, terrifyingly serene—a woman who had successfully excised a parasite and was now ready to claim her life back.
Grant reached out a trembling hand to knock on the glass, perhaps to plead one last time, perhaps just to hear her say his name.
Before his knuckles touched the wood, Claire turned her head slightly, looked right through the glass at him, and reached over to throw the deadbolt.
Click.
The heavy brass lock slid home with a final, definitive sound that echoed down the street.
Grant lowered his hand. He turned around, walked down the limestone steps, and stepped into his car. He did not look back as he put the vehicle in reverse, his tires crunching over the frozen sleet as he drove away from the only real security he had ever known.
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Inside the foyer, Claire closed her eyes and took her first deep, unobstructed breath in eight months.
"We're home, little one," she murmured, resting both hands on her belly as a strong, reassuring kick answered her from within. "And nobody is ever taking this away from us again."
