Divorced And Rich: Falling For The Mechanic

The silence in the Frost house was deafening. Then it shattered. "Ungrateful bitch!" Fronia screamed, kicking the door frame. Her foot throbbed, but the pain only fueled her anger. "After everything we did for her! We took her in when her family went under!" Cletus flopped onto the couch, grabbing the TV remote. "Calm down, Ma. She'll be back. Where's she gonna go? She's got no money, no friends. She'll freeze out there and come crawling back." Earl poured himself another whiskey, spilling a little on the counter. He didn't bother wiping it up. "She's just throwing a tantrum. Women do that. Bailey will sort her out when he gets home." Fronia took a deep breath. They were right. They had to be right. Adeline was soft. She was weak. She couldn't survive without them. "Fine," Fronia said, her jaw tight. "Let her go. Nobody calls her. Nobody texts her. We'll see how long she lasts without a roof over her head." The family agreed. They turned back to the TV, the dinner growing cold on the table. But as the night wore on, the house began to fall apart. Leo wouldn't stop crying. He missed his mom. He was scared of the loud man who kept yelling. Fronia tried to quiet him with a bag of chips, but Leo threw them on the floor, screaming he wanted his mom. Fronia, at her wit's end, screamed right back at him, making him cry even harder. The dishes from dinner piled up in the sink. The grease congealed. The leftover chicken sat out on the counter, attracting flies. Nobody wanted to clean it. That was Adeline's job. Cletus wanted to watch the game. Wayne, the middle son, wanted to watch a movie. They fought over the remote, wrestling on the floor until they knocked over a lamp. Earl couldn't find his secret stash of vodka. He tore apart the kitchen cabinets, throwing pots and pans onto the linoleum, screaming about how the woman had stolen his liquor. The house smelled like sweat, garbage, and desperation. Fronia sat in the armchair, watching the chaos. Her head was pounding. Her stomach was churning. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Adeline was supposed to be here, cleaning up the mess, making the food, paying the bills. "She'll be back," Fronia whispered to herself, clutching her purse. "She has to be back." Miles away, the air smelled like pine needles and damp earth. Adeline pulled the Range Rover to a stop in front of the cabin. It was small, weathered, half-hidden by overgrown wisteria vines. It wasn't the mansion. It was better. It was hers. Left to her by her grandmother, the only person in the family who hadn't cared about scandals or society. She got out of the car. The silence was absolute. No screaming. No breaking glass. Just the wind in the trees and the chirp of crickets. She unlocked the front door. The air inside was stale, dusty, but clean. Sheets covered the furniture like ghosts. Adeline didn't hesitate. She pulled the sheets off the couch, sending a cloud of dust into the air. She opened every window. The night breeze rushed in, carrying the scent of the woods. She found a broom in the closet and started sweeping. She swept the floors. She wiped down the counters. She scrubbed the bathroom until the porcelain shone. It was hard work. Her arms ached. Sweat dripped down her back. But with every stroke of the broom, with every swipe of the rag, she felt a layer of Frost peel away. By midnight, one bedroom was livable. She unrolled her sleeping bag on the bed. She made a cup of chamomile tea in the small kitchen. She walked out onto the porch. A rocking chair sat there, waiting. She sat down, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. She looked up at the sky. There were no streetlights out here. The stars were blinding. Millions of them, scattered across the black velvet like diamonds. She pulled out her phone. No missed calls. No texts. The Frosts were playing their game. Good. Then, with cold efficiency, she spent the next twenty minutes on the phone with her bank, methodically freezing every joint account and supplementary card. The last call was to the credit card company. "Yes," she said calmly, her voice echoing in the quiet night, "I am reporting them all as compromised." A final, clean cut. She turned the phone off completely. She took a sip of her tea. It was bitter and sweet. She closed her eyes, letting the cool air wash over her. For the first time in three years, she wasn't holding her breath. She was free.