My Mother's Secret Life ExposedChapter 2

2

“Joanne, wake up! You have to drive me to school!”

“Come on, get up! I’m going to be late!”

Joanne was shaking my arm, trying to drag me out of bed. She was desperate to maintain the routine, desperate for me to be the mother she had been.

“You’re eighteen, not eight,” I growled, pulling the duvet over my head. “You have legs. Walk. Take the bus. I’m not your damn chauffeur.”

The room went silent for a few beats. I heard her retreating footsteps, but before she closed the door, she couldn't help herself. “Don’t forget Ma’s house... and Arthur’s lunch.”

“To hell with that!” I yelled at the ceiling. We had a cleaning service. We had money. And yet she spent ninety minutes every day driving out to the edge of the city to scrub floors for a woman who didn't even like her. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I don't know how long I slept, but the buzzing of her phone eventually pierced through my dreams. I chucked the iPhone across the room, but then the landline started screaming. It was a relentless, high-pitched demand. I finally stumbled into the kitchen to answer it.

“Where is my lunch? I’ve been in meetings all morning and I’m starving. Get down here. Now.”

Arthur didn't even wait for a response before hanging up. In this house, he was the king, and Joanne was the maid who never said no. But I wasn't Joanne, and I had never considered this man my father. He wasn't getting lunch today. He was getting a surprise.

I raided Joanne’s closet. It was a sea of beige trench coats, modest floral dresses, and sensible black flats. Everything Arthur liked. None of it suited my mood. I looked at the oversized, grey fleece pajamas I was wearing—comfortable, shapeless, and completely inappropriate. Perfect.

When I walked into the lobby of Arthur’s corporate headquarters in my pajamas, hair unbrushed and frizzy, the staff stared. I could hear the whispers starting as I passed the glass-walled offices. Whocare? I spent my whole life being told to "dress for the occasion." Today, the occasion was chaos.

His secretary intercepted me halfway down the hall. She looked at me with a mix of pity and professional disdain, her hand hovering near my pocket as if checking for a weapon. She was loyal to a fault—Arthur’s little soldier.

She pulled a set of black keys out of my pocket, her expression flickering with a brief, sharp panic before she shoved them back in and pushed me into the executive suite.

Arthur was sitting behind his mahogany desk, rubbing his temples. He didn't even look up. “Fine. What is it this time? What do you want?”

“A divorce,” I said, tossing the papers I’d prepared onto his desk.

Arthur let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He finally looked at me, his eyes scanning my pajamas with disgust. “Joanne, have you finally lost your mind? You married me to pay off Benny’s gambling debts. You still owe me for that. You think you can just walk away with half my assets? You’re dreaming.”

He crumpled the papers and tossed them toward the wastebasket. Then he stood up, taking his jacket off the rack. He started wrapping the sleeves around his fist as he walked toward me. He grabbed me by the collar, his knuckles white, his fist pulled back toward my stomach.

He expected me to cower. He didn't expect the paring knife I’d slipped from the kitchen to be at his throat before his punch could land.

The blade rested right against his carotid artery. I watched his Adam's apple jump as he swallowed. He was terrified, but he tried to bluff. “You do this, and the 'dignity' you've spent twenty years building is gone. Everyone will know you’re a psycho. Riley will be the daughter of a murderer. Think about her.”

“Really?” I smiled, pressing the steel a little firmer against his skin. “When you're fighting for your life, who gives a damn about your reputation? And don't you dare mention Riley. What she thinks of us is none of your business. This is about you and me.”

“All those years you hit me? Five or six holes in your gut wouldn't even begin to even the score.” I pulled the knife back, feinting a lunge toward his stomach.

Arthur screamed, throwing his hands over his head and cowering against the window. He looked pathetic. All that corporate power, all that "dignity," evaporated in a second of pure, unadulterated cowardice.

“Stop it! Joanne!”

The door burst open. Meredith, dressed in a designer suit and smelling of expensive perfume, rushed in. She grabbed my arm, her eyes welling with crocodile tears.

Right on cue. The guest of honor had arrived.