Chapter 8 - CLEANING THE HOUSE
Returning to my home estate that evening felt entirely different than it had three weeks ago. The house was no longer a gilded cage filled with quiet tension and hidden lies; it was quiet, still, and completely mine.
My mother had arranged for a team of contractors to remove all of Grant’s personal belongings while I was at the Mercer closing meeting. His clothes, his private art collection, his watches, and his sports equipment had all been packed into wooden crates and sent to a secured storage facility pending the final distribution of assets by the divorce court.
I walked through the spacious living room, my heels soft against the Persian rugs. The air smelled of fresh flowers and citrus cleaner rather than Grant’s heavy cologne.
My mother walked out of the kitchen carrying two glasses of fresh iced tea. She handed one to me and sat down on the sofa.
“The court date for the final divorce decree has been set for next month,” Eleanor said, looking at me with proud, watchful eyes. “Because of his felony charges, the judge is fast-tracking the proceedings. You will be completely free before your due date.”
“Good,” I said, taking a small sip of tea. “And the media?”
“Fading,” Eleanor replied. “A new scandal broke in the capital this morning. The press has moved on. By the time the baby arrives, you will just be a wealthy, independent mother living a quiet life.”
I walked over to the large bay window that looked out onto the manicured gardens. The sun was setting, casting long streaks of amber and violet across the manicured lawn.
“Do you think he ever loved me, Mother?” I asked softly, voicing the one question I had kept locked away since the day I found those messages on his tablet.
Eleanor stood up, walking over to stand beside me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Grant loved what you represented, Evelyn,” Eleanor said honestly. “He loved the status, the security, the access to a world he couldn't reach on his own. But men like Grant are incapable of real love because they view every relationship as a transaction. When the balance sheet didn't favor him anymore, he tried to liquidate the asset.”
She turned me gently to face her.
“You didn’t lose a husband, my dear,” Eleanor added. “You cut off a parasite before it could bleed you dry.”
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I looked down at my hands, feeling the truth of her words settle deep inside me. The pain of the betrayal was still there—a sharp, subtle ache beneath my ribs—but it was no longer overwhelming. It had been replaced by a cold, clear strength.
“Let’s go see the nursery,” I said softly.
