Chapter 8 - CLEANING HOUSE
When my father and I pulled into the driveway two hours later, an unfamiliar van was parked near the garage. It was the locksmith my father had hired on the drive over.
Inside the house, the atmosphere was chaotic.
Denise and Mia were frantically pulling suitcases down the stairs, tossing clothes, makeup bags, and shoes into open boxes littered across the living room floor. Denise’s face was red and blotchy from crying, while Mia sat on the bottom step, staring blankly at her phone.
My father walked in, followed by the locksmith.
"What is he doing here?" Denise demanded, pointing an angry finger at the locksmith.
"He’s changing the locks on the front door, the back door, and the garage," my father said plainly. "You have until 6:00 PM to finish packing your personal clothes and toiletries. Anything else—furniture, electronics, jewelry purchased with my money—stays here until the divorce attorneys review the assets."
"You can't do that!" Denise shrieked. "This is my home too!"
"The deed to this house is in my name, purchased five years before I met you," my father replied smoothly. "My lawyer has already filed an emergency motion. You are a guest in this house, Denise. And your invitation has been revoked."
While the locksmith went to work, I walked upstairs to my bedroom.
For the first time in three years, I turned the lock on my bedroom door, knowing that no one was going to break in, no one was going to steal my things, and no one was going to destroy my peace ever again.
I sat down on my bed. The fragments of my old dress had been cleared away by my dad earlier, but the memory of the morning still lingered. I looked at the graduation diploma sitting on my desk, then at the gorgeous vintage ivory dress hanging neatly on my closet door.
A quiet knock sounded at my door.
"Maya?"
It was my father. I unlocked the door and let him in.
He walked over to my desk and set a heavy, velvet-lined mahogany box down next to my diploma.
My breath caught. I recognized that box immediately. It was my mother’s jewelry box—the one that had mysteriously vanished from my father’s master bedroom closet six months after Denise moved in.
"Where did you find it?" I whispered.
"In Denise’s closet, hidden under a pile of designer purses," my father said, his voice thick with shame. "She took it, Maya. She took it years ago and told me you had probably misplaced it."
I opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside, resting on the velvet lining, was my mother’s favorite silver chain, her wedding band, and a beautiful pearl bracelet she had inherited from my grandmother. Everything was intact.
Tears welled up in my eyes. "Dad..."
"I'm so sorry, Maya," he said, taking my hands in his. "I allowed these toxins into our sanctuary. But today, we clean house. Completely."
Downstairs, a loud slam of the front door echoed through the house, followed by the sound of a car engine revving and tires screeching down the driveway.
May you like
Denise and Mia were gone.
The house suddenly felt incredibly quiet. Not an anxious, tense silence where I had to walk on eggshells, but a peaceful, clean silence. A house that finally felt like home again.
