It’s time to stop the bleeding.
The mortgage termination took less than five minutes.
“Effective immediately,” I said.
When I hung up, the silence felt liberating.
That night, I burned five years’ worth of bank statements in my fireplace.
I poured myself a drink.
“Merry Christmas,” I said into the empty room.
The next morning, Isabella called again.
She needed a favor.
“Pick up my parents from the airport,” she ordered. “At 2:00.”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
At 2:15 a.m., I was home, reading the newspaper.
At 3:30 a.m., my cell phone vibrated incessantly.
At 4:15 a.m., I turned it off.
That evening, they were banging on my door.
Cody Jenkins stormed in, furious.
“You abandoned us!”
“Get out of my house,” I said calmly.
Threats followed. Hints of consequences.
I closed the door.
Three days later, the newspaper published an article portraying me as a villain.
They had gone public.
Big mistake.
On Christmas Eve, I arrived at their dinner with the evidence.
Bank statements.
Receipts.
Five years’ worth of evidence.
Twelve guests. Twelve packages.
The room turned against them.
I left as their social empire crumbled behind me.
In March, the foreclosure notice arrived.
Michael reappeared weeks later, completely broken.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know,” I replied.
“I need help.”
“No,” I said gently. “You have to take responsibility.”
We talked honestly with each other for the first time in years.
He walked away lighter. So did I.
Spring arrived in Spokane.
And so did peace.
Family, I learned, isn’t about blood ties.
It’s about who chooses you—unconditionally.
And I was finally fed up with paying for seats at a show where I wasn’t allowed on stage.
