Chapter 3 - The Envelope
The tension in the dining room had reached a suffocating pitch when Alexander suddenly slammed his napkin down onto the table. The sharp sound made Lydia jump, her wine glass sloshing a few drops of red liquid onto the pristine white tablecloth.
Alexander didn't look at his mother, nor his wife. He stood up abruptly, his chair legs screeching against the oak floor.
"Excuse me for a moment," he muttered, his voice tight and strained. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode down the long hallway toward the master bedroom.
Bianca rolled her eyes, offering Ewald a tight, conspiratorial smile. "He gets so stressed with the quarterly reviews at the firm. Men simply don't handle executive pressure the way my father did."
"Engineering is a demanding field," Ewald agreed pompously, cutting a wedge of cheese. "Requires a certain pedigree. Not everyone has the mental fortitude for high-level asset management."
Helga calmly took a sip of her water, setting the crystal glass down without a sound. "My son designed the hydraulic suspension systems for Europe's high-speed rail network, Ewald. I imagine that requires a bit more fortitude than balancing a checkbook."
Lydia bristled, her nostrils flaring. "Really, Helga, there is no need for such defensive hostility. We are simply discussing the realities of modern professional life. One must wonder if Alexander’s current financial burdens are entirely necessary."
Before Helga could deliver a blistering response, the hallway floorboards creaked.
Alexander reappeared. He walked back into the dining room slowly, his steps heavy. In his right hand, he held a thick white envelope. His fingers were trembling so violently that the paper rustled like dry leaves in an autumn wind.
He didn't go to his seat. Instead, he walked straight around the table, stopping directly in front of Helga’s chair.
The room went dead silent. Ewald paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Bianca froze, her eyes darting suspiciously toward the white envelope.
Alexander dropped heavily to his knees on the hardwood floor, ignoring the expensive fabric of his trousers. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over his lashes as he looked up at his mother with a mixture of profound shame and desperate love.
"Mom," Alexander whispered, his voice cracking. "I... I know what you gave up for me. I know you spent forty years scrubbing floors, skipping meals, and wearing winter coats with holes in the lining just so I could go to university."
Helga’s heart skipped a beat. The defensive armor she had worn all afternoon cracked slightly, a sudden warmth threatening her composure.
"Alexander, get up from the floor," she murmured softly, her hand reaching out to touch his hair. "You don't need to—"
"No, let me speak," he interrupted, swallowing hard. He lifted the thick envelope and placed it gently in her lap. "I saved this for six months. Every bonus, every overtime shift, every extra project I took on behind the scenes. It’s twenty-five thousand euros. Please take it. Buy yourself peace. Buy yourself a new apartment, a new coat, something... anything to make your life easier."
Inside the envelope, neatly bound with paper bands, were thick stacks of crisp, hundred-euro notes. Twenty-five thousand euros. A small fortune born of guilt, love, and exhaustion.
For a fraction of a second, Helga felt a surge of pure, unadulterated maternal pride. Her son remembered. Beneath all of Bianca’s poison, beneath the glossy furniture and the high-society pretensions, her boy still had a heart.
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Then, reality struck like a bolt of lightning.
Bianca’s face twisted into an expression of sheer, unmasked fury before she could catch herself. The mask of polished sophistication shattered instantly, revealing the desperate, grasping vulture underneath.
