It was a wedding portrait captured on a sun-drenched cliff overlooking the deep blue waters of Santorini. Anthony was standing there in an ivory-colored suit, wearing a smile I hadn’t seen on his face in years. Standing beside him was Chloe Bennett, a junior marketing analyst employed at my own firm. She was dressed in white, her hand resting delicately over her stomach.
The caption read: “My son has finally discovered true joy and has chosen the right path for his future.”
I pinched the screen to zoom in on the image. His sisters were in the background. His cousins. Longtime family friends. Everyone was celebrating with a joy that suggested I had never even existed in their world.
The reality was devastatingly simple. I was the one who had been paying the mortgage on our mansion in Silver Ridge. I was the one covering the monthly lease on his high-end sports car. I even provided Patricia with a regular monthly allowance. I had been the sole financier of the very lifestyle they were now celebrating without me.
I dialed Patricia’s number.
“You need to face the facts,” she told me with a cold edge to her voice. “You were unable to give my son a child. Chloe is pregnant. It’s time to stop pretending you have a place in this family anymore.”
