Chapter 4 - The Mother-in-Law Who Knew EverythingMargaret Mitchell had always told people she loved me like a daughter.
Apparently, she had a very different definition of love.
I discovered that the following morning when I drove to her house carrying a box of pumpkin muffins, a smile I didn't feel, and a question I already knew the answer to.
Margaret lived in a white colonial on the outskirts of Knoxville.
Her husband, Frank, had died when Mike was seventeen.
For nearly twenty years, she had raised her son alone.
She was proud of him.
Painfully proud.
To Margaret, Mike could do no wrong.
If he forgot an anniversary, he was overworked.
If he lost his temper, he was exhausted.
If he hurt someone's feelings, they were too sensitive.
For sixteen years, I'd dismissed it as a mother's devotion.
Now I wondered how many of his lies she had helped maintain.
"Rebecca!" she exclaimed when she opened the door. "What a lovely surprise."
She wore a pale pink cardigan and pearl earrings.
Her silver hair was perfectly styled.
I handed her the muffins.
"Fresh from Rosie's."
"Oh, sweetheart, you spoil me."
She kissed my cheek.
The same cheek her son had kissed while lying to me.
I followed her into the kitchen.
Family photographs covered the walls.
Mike in his football uniform.
Mike graduating from high school.
Mike receiving his firefighter badge.
And Sadie.
Everywhere.
Sadie at five.
Sadie at eight.
Sadie in her soccer uniform.
I noticed something strange.
There was only one photograph of me.
Our wedding picture.
And it had been moved to a shelf behind a ceramic vase.
I hadn't noticed before.
Margaret poured coffee.
"How's the bakery?"
"Busy."
"You work too much, Rebecca."
There it was again.
The accusation.
The carefully planted foundation for a story in which I was an absent mother.
"I enjoy my work."
She sighed.
"Of course. But children need their mothers at home."
"Sadie has always had me at home."
Margaret lifted her cup.
"Well, Michael has been carrying quite a burden."
I stared at her.
"What burden?"
She gave a sympathetic smile.
"Your long hours. The business. Your unwillingness to slow down."
I set down my coffee.
"Has Mike complained about me?"
"Marriage is complicated, dear."
"Has he?"
Margaret avoided my eyes.
"He's under a great deal of stress."
"Because of Brittany?"
Her cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
The silence was immediate.
Complete.
I watched her face drain of color.
For a moment, she looked like a woman who'd seen a ghost.
Then she put down the cup.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Brittany Lawson."
Nothing.
"Twenty-eight years old. Blonde. Mike's girlfriend."
Margaret's expression hardened.
"Rebecca, I don't appreciate your tone."
I leaned forward.
"Do you appreciate your son planning to introduce his mistress to my eleven-year-old daughter behind my back?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Michael wouldn't do anything to hurt Sadie."
"He already has."
"That's unfair."
"Is it?"
Margaret folded her hands.
"Sometimes marriages end."
I felt my chest tighten.
"So you knew."
She looked away.
I laughed once.
A bitter, disbelieving sound.
"You knew."
"Rebecca—"
"You sat at my table for Thanksgiving. You came to Sadie's birthday party. You let me drive you to your doctor's appointments."
"Lower your voice."
"And all that time, you knew he had another woman."
Margaret's cheeks flushed.
"Michael deserves happiness."
I stared at her.
"And I don't?"
"That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to."
She straightened her shoulders.
"You're making this ugly."
I took a slow breath.
"Tell me about Asheville."
Her expression changed.
"What's in Asheville?"
"Don't insult me."
Margaret looked at the kitchen doorway.
Then back at me.
"Michael has been offered an opportunity."
"An opportunity to do what?"
"A position with a private emergency services company. Better pay. Better hours."
"And Brittany?"
She hesitated.
"Her family has connections there."
I felt sick.
They had planned everything.
A new job.
A new woman.
A new home.
And a new mother for my daughter.
"You've met her," I said.
Margaret didn't answer.
"How many times?"
She sighed.
"Brittany is a very nice young woman."
I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped the floor.
"Don't."
"Rebecca, sit down."
"Don't you dare tell me she's nice."
Margaret rose.
"You've become very difficult lately."
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Because I don't want my husband cheating on me?"
"Because you refuse to see that things change!"
Her voice rang through the kitchen.
Then she seemed to realize what she'd said.
She took a step back.
I stared at her.
"How long?"
"Rebecca—"
"How long have you been helping him?"
Margaret closed her eyes.
"Since July."
July.
Three months.
Three months of family dinners.
Three months of Sunday church services.
Three months of asking me to bring lemon bars to her bridge club.
I felt something inside me break.
But I didn't cry.
Not in front of her.
"Did you know about the papers?" I asked.
"What papers?"
"The parenting agreement with my forged signature."
Her face went white.
That told me enough.
"Margaret."
She clutched the edge of the counter.
"Michael said you were going to sign them."
"But I didn't."
"He said it would be easier if the documents were ready."
"Easier for whom?"
She said nothing.
I picked up my purse.
"Stay away from Sadie until we've dealt with this."
Margaret's expression turned furious.
"You cannot keep my granddaughter from me!"
"I'm not discussing that with you here."
"Michael won't allow it."
I looked at her.
And for the first time, I saw her clearly.
Not as the lonely widow who'd welcomed me into her family.
But as someone who believed my role had always been conditional.
I was acceptable as long as I cooked, worked, gave her a granddaughter, and kept her son comfortable.
The moment he wanted someone else, I became disposable.
I walked toward the door.
Then Margaret said something that stopped me.
"You should be grateful we haven't told Sadie the truth."
I turned slowly.
"What truth?"
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
"Forget it."
I moved toward her.
"Margaret, what truth?"
She looked suddenly frightened.
"Nothing. I misspoke."
But her reaction told me otherwise.
There was something else.
Something she believed she could use against me.
I left without another word.
In the driveway, I called Hannah.
I told her everything, including Margaret's admission that she'd known about the affair since July.
Hannah listened.
Then she said, "Becca, come to the office. I have information about the documents."
My stomach tightened.
"Are they real?"
"They're drafts. We haven't found evidence of a court filing. But the name of the person who prepared them is concerning."
"Who?"
"A paralegal who used to work at a law firm in Asheville. She appears to know Brittany's family."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"So this was all arranged?"
"Possibly. We're verifying the details."
I started the car.
Then Hannah added, "And one more thing. I reviewed the documents you gave me about Rosie's."
"Okay."
"Becca, who owns the building your bakery operates in?"
I frowned.
"My grandmother left it to me."
"Correct. But there's a corporate document here that Mike appears to have used in connection with a proposed business loan."
"A loan?"
"One bearing your name."
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't apply for a loan."
"I know."
"How much?"
Hannah hesitated.
"Two hundred and forty thousand dollars."
I felt the world tilt.
"What?"
"And Rebecca, there's a reason I'm worried."
I couldn't breathe.
"The document lists Rosie's building as proposed collateral."
I stared through the windshield.
The bakery.
My grandmother's bakery.
The place she'd built with her own hands.
The place that had kept our family afloat during Mike's unemployment years.
He hadn't just tried to take my daughter.
He'd tried to put my entire livelihood at risk.
And as I sat outside Margaret Mitchell's perfectly maintained house, I received a message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
Mike and Brittany.
Standing together outside a jewelry store.
Brittany was holding up her left hand.
On it was an engagement ring.
May you like
Beneath the photograph were six words.
He proposed to her last night.
Related Stories
