I came home for Thanksgiving. The house was empty, except for my husband’s stepfather in a rocking chair. A note said, «Gone on a cruise with my ex. You’ll stay home and take care of stepdad; he needs you.» The stepfather opened one eye and said, «Shall we begin?» I nodded. Four days later, my husband was begging...
The note trembled in my fingers as the blood drained from my face. Gone on a Caribbean cruise with Hannah. Mom decided to come too since she needed a break. You’ll stay home and take care of Victor, he needs you. Back Monday. Brady.
I read it twice, certain there must be some mistake. The paper fluttered to the kitchen counter as my hand went numb.
«He’s not coming back until Monday, is he?» The raspy voice behind me made me jump.
I turned to see Victor watching me from the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane but with eyes far too alert for the decrepit old man Brady had described. «No,» I managed, my voice barely audible. «No one is.»
«They’ve all gone on a cruise.» Victor nodded slowly, as if he’d expected this exact scenario. «Left you with the dirty work, didn’t they? Classic Brady move.»
I had arrived at the Mitchell family home just thirty minutes earlier, my car packed with gifts and ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner. The silent house should have been my first clue: no delicious aromas of roasting turkey, no football game blaring from the living room television, no cheerful greetings. Instead, I found only an unheated house and Brady’s stepfather sitting alone in a rocking chair, looking at me with those uncomfortably perceptive blue eyes.
«I don’t understand,» I said, sinking into a kitchen chair. «We’ve been planning this Thanksgiving dinner for months. His mother was supposed to host. Everyone was coming.» I pulled out my phone and tried Brady’s number again. It went straight to voicemail, just like the previous three attempts.
Victor shuffled to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of water. «Been like this all week, quiet as a tomb. They left Tuesday morning.» He poured himself a glass with slightly shaking hands. «Didn’t even stock the fridge properly. Hope you brought groceries.»
I hadn’t. I’d brought cranberries, sweet potatoes, and my special apple pie ingredients. These were contributions to what was supposed to be a family feast, not provisions for an abandoned holiday.
My phone pinged with a notification. With a surge of hope, thinking it might be Brady, I quickly checked it. Instead, it was an Instagram alert. Brady’s sister had tagged him in a photo. With trembling fingers, I opened the app. The image knocked the wind from me.
Brady was standing on a cruise ship deck, his arm around a young blonde woman I recognized as Hannah, his work colleague he’d mentioned increasingly often over the past few months. They were holding champagne flutes, toasting the camera. The caption read, «#NewBeginnings #CaribbeanGetaway with @BradyMitchell and family.»
Family. The word stung like salt in an open wound. I scrolled through more photos. There was Brady’s mother, Elaine, sipping a cocktail, looking anything but like someone who needed a break from caring for Victor. Another photo showed Brady and Hannah at what appeared to be a romantic dinner. The post was time-stamped two days ago, which meant this had been planned long before Brady told me we were expected at his mother’s for Thanksgiving.
«Find something interesting?» Victor asked, studying my face.
I turned the phone screen toward him. «They’re on a cruise with Hannah from his office. The one he said was just a colleague.» My voice cracked. «They’ve been planning this while I was buying gifts and taking time off work for what I thought was a family Thanksgiving.»
Victor nodded grimly. «Hannah’s been in the picture for at least three months. She’s called here asking for Brady several times. Pretty voice, terrible laugh.»
I stared at him. «You knew.»
«I know a lot of things they don’t think I notice.» He tapped his temple with a gnarled finger. «Mine’s still sharp, despite what Brady tells everyone.»
My thoughts raced to our bank account. With shaking hands, I opened our banking app. Three days ago: a $5,200 withdrawal. It was almost our entire savings, money we’d been putting aside for a down payment on a house. The house Brady had promised we’d start looking for after the holidays.
«He took our savings,» I whispered, showing Victor the screen. «All of it.»
Victor wasn’t surprised. «They’ve been doing the same to me for years. Taking a little here, a little there. ‘For your care, Victor,’ they say.» He gestured around the cold room. «Meanwhile, the heat’s turned down to save money. My medications are sometimes delayed, and Elaine buys herself another designer purse.»
I felt sick. This wasn’t just about a ruined Thanksgiving or even the betrayal of an affair. This was calculated abandonment of me, of Victor, of responsibilities and promises. My phone rang. It was my best friend Leah, calling to wish me a happy Thanksgiving. I silenced it, unable to explain this humiliation just yet.
«There’s leftover soup,» Victor offered. «Not much of a Thanksgiving feast, but it’ll do.»
I looked around the kitchen. There were dirty dishes in the sink and empty takeout containers on the counter. They hadn’t even cleaned up before leaving. Something hardened inside me. «No,» I said firmly. «We deserve better than leftover soup.»
I grabbed my coat and purse. «I’m going to the grocery store. They might still have some turkey breasts and potatoes. We’re having a proper meal today.»
Victor looked surprised, then pleased. «Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months. Brady always brings fast food when he bothers to come by.»
At the grocery store, my mind whirled with questions and emotions. How long had Brady been planning to leave me? Was our entire five-year marriage just a convenient arrangement he could discard when something better came along? I mechanically selected a small turkey breast, potatoes, and some vegetables, barely registering the other last-minute shoppers around me.
When I returned, Victor had managed to clear the kitchen counter and was sitting at the table with a stack of papers.
«What’s all this?» I asked, setting down the groceries.
«Evidence,» he replied, his blue eyes suddenly steely. «Bank statements, medical records, documented neglect. I’ve been keeping track for months.» He pushed a folder toward me. «Brady and Elaine think I’m just a burden waiting to die. They don’t know I’ve been watching them strip my accounts while providing minimum care.»
I glanced at the papers. There were detailed notes, account statements showing suspicious transfers, and copies of medical recommendations that had been ignored. «Why are you showing me this?» I asked, unsettled by his methodical documentation.
Victor leaned forward, suddenly looking less frail. «Because you’ve been wronged too, Jade. And because I don’t have much time left.» He tapped a medical report. «Terminal cancer. Three months at most.»
I sat down heavily across from him. «I’m so sorry, Victor.»
He waved away my sympathy. «Don’t be sorry. Be smart.» He looked at me with unexpected intensity. «They think they’ve left you with a burden, but they’ve actually given us an opportunity.»
«An opportunity for what?»
Victor’s thin lips curved into a smile that transformed his face. «For justice.» He reached for an envelope and slid it across the table. «Inside is my real will and trust documents. Not the one Brady and Elaine think exists.»
I didn’t touch the envelope. «Victor, I don’t understand.»
He leaned back in his chair and studied me. After a moment, he simply said, «Shall we begin?» Those three words hung in the air between us, loaded with possibility and hidden meaning. Before I could respond, he explained his proposition. Help him document the family’s neglect and betrayal, assist with his final arrangements, and he would ensure I’d be taken care of financially after he was gone. The family who abandoned us both would lose everything they thought was coming to them.
