"Miss, that dinnerware set was so old. I noticed cracks when I was washing it and worried it might cut you, so I went ahead and threw it out."
"Miss, I took that outfit to the dry cleaner's, and they ended up losing it."
Every excuse sounded a little thin, but Georgette's attitude was always apologetic enough that I let it slide.
I figured that was the end of it.
Until Memorial Day.
After visiting my parents' graves, I decided to drive out to the countryside estate they'd lived in for most of their lives and give it a proper cleaning.
It was their favorite place in the world. The garden was full of flowers my mother had cherished, and every room held souvenirs my father had brought back from his travels around the globe. Before she passed, my mother held my hand and told me that house was the work of her and my father's entire lifetime. She made me promise to take care of it.
I treasured that estate more than anything. Even though being there made my chest ache with memories, I still went back regularly after moving out on my own. I'd wipe down every piece of furniture by hand, trim the flowers and hedges in the garden. Every visit, without fail.
But this time, when I pulled up to the front gate, I froze.
The gate, which I always kept locked, was standing wide open.
From inside the estate came the muffled thud of music cranked to full volume and the raucous sound of laughter.
I rushed forward and pushed through the front door.
What I saw stopped me cold.
The living room was destroyed.
Empty liquor bottles, snack wrappers, fruit peels, sunflower-seed shells, and cigarette butts littered the coffee table, the couches, the floor. The leather sofa, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, was pocked with burn marks where cigarettes had been ground into it, each one a charred black crater. My mother's beloved Persian rug was covered in footprints and stained with splatters of red wine. The keepsakes that had hung on the walls were either pulled down and used as photo props or smashed to pieces in the corners.
My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.
This was the home my parents had lived in for half their lives. Every piece of furniture, every single item on display, they had chosen with care. I normally tiptoed through these rooms, terrified of bumping into anything, of disturbing even a single object.
And now it had been trashed beyond recognition.
I scanned the room and found Cora sitting on the couch directly facing the entrance, surrounded by a crowd of our college classmates.
"Cora, your family is insanely rich! Even a random vacation house out in the suburbs is this luxurious."
"Seriously, I just looked it up. Any one of these paintings on the wall is worth millions!"
"God, your mom is unreal. No wonder she's the richest woman in the city, worth billions!"
"Hey, since we're all classmates, once you graduate and inherit everything, think you could get us jobs at your family's company?"
Cora's lips curled into a smug grin. "Easy. Stick with me, and none of you will ever have to worry about money again."
The whole group erupted into giddy laughter, falling over themselves to flatter her.
Then Cora spotted me standing in the doorway.
Her smile vanished. She rose and strode toward me, chin tilted high.
Crack.
Without a word, she slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped to the side.
"You broke little nobody. You actually followed me here?"
The slap came out of nowhere. I stood rooted to the spot, my cheek burning.
Every pair of eyes in the room went wide.
"Cora, what's going on?"
Cora jabbed a finger at me, her face twisted with disgust.
"This is Beulah Henson. The freeloading stray I was just telling you about."
"Mooching off my family's place in the city wasn't enough for her. Now she's trying to worm her way into the estate my mom just bought me."
