Chapter 2 - The Ultimatum and the Aftermath
By midnight, the house was suffocatingly quiet. Blythe hadn't left for her mother's; instead, she had locked herself in the master bedroom, her muffled phone calls echoing through the ventilation ducts. Dad sat alone at the kitchen table with a stack of printed bank statements he’d downloaded from his laptop, illuminated only by the harsh blue light of the screen.
Reid and I sat on the living room sofa, staring at the blank television.
"She's not going to pay it back," Reid whispered in the dark. "You know that, right? That money is gone. Spent on designer clothes, or inventory for a showroom that probably doesn't even exist."
"Dad has to do something," I replied, though my own voice lacked conviction. "He can't just let her steal our college funds."
"He trusted her. That's his weakness." Reid pulled his knees up to his chest. "And what about tomorrow? She's still going to expect us to watch the twins while she goes to her 'client meetings.'"
"She can find another babysitter," I said bitterly.
The next morning, however, reality proved far more complicated. Blythe emerged from the master bedroom at eight o'clock, looking as immaculate as ever in her cream blazer, acting as if the previous night’s confrontation had been nothing more than a minor domestic disagreement. She strolled into the kitchen where Dad was drinking black coffee.
"Grant, I need the SUV keys," she said smoothly, picking up her leather handbag. "I have a meeting with a high-end contractor downtown at ten."
Dad didn't look up from his mug. "You're not taking the SUV, Blythe. And you're not going to any meetings until we sort out these finances."
Her expression hardened instantly. "And how do you propose I get to my appointments? Walk? Grant, be reasonable. The twins need supplies, and my business requires mobility. If you handicap me now, you're hurting the whole family."
"You hurt this family when you stole fifty-nine thousand dollars," Dad said, his voice level and cold.
"I borrowed it!" she hissed, stepping closer to him. "And if you humiliate me by treating me like a criminal, don't expect me to stick around to pick up the pieces of this dysfunctional household. Your kids hate me anyway. They've been plotting against me since day one."
I stepped out from the hallway, unable to stay hidden any longer. "We haven't plotted anything, Blythe. We've just tried to get an education while you treat us like unpaid maids."
"Oh, look who's speaking!" she whirled around, her eyes flashing with malice. "The ungrateful stepdaughter who resents her own baby brother and sister. You think you're so smart with your scholarship applications? Without my husband's money—which, by the way, he legally shares with me—you're nothing."
"Enough!" Dad stood up, towering over her. The kitchen air grew dense with tension. "Blythe, call your lawyer or call your mother. You have forty-eight hours to provide an accounting of every dollar transferred out of that savings account. If you can't show me receipts for legitimate business expenses, I am filing for legal separation and freezing all joint accounts."
The color drained entirely from Blythe’s face. For a second, she looked genuinely frightened. Then, her expression morphed into a mask of pure venom.
"You'll ruin us all," she whispered. "You think you're protecting your kids, Grant? You're destroying everything we've built."
She grabbed her keys from the counter, ignored the twins who were starting to fuss in their high chairs, and stormed out the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the windowpanes.
Silence descended upon the kitchen once more. Fourteen-month-old Finn began to cry softly, clutching his little blue blanket.
Dad looked at Reid and me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I am so sorry," he choked out. "I messed up. I trusted the wrong person."
"Sorry doesn't pay for tuition, Dad," Reid said quietly, standing up and walking past him without another word.
That afternoon, while Dad was at work, my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It wasn't a text from Blythe. It was an email from the university admissions office regarding my scholarship status. The deadline for submitting my financial aid verification documents was in four days. If I didn't provide proof of family savings or independent status, my full-ride consideration would be automatically revoked.
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I sat at the kitchen table, watching Mabel play with wooden blocks on the floor, and realized that waiting for Dad to fix this was no longer an option. If I wanted my future, I had to take it back myself.
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