Six months later, I sat on the porch of my new house—a modest three-bedroom I had bought with the settlement money. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was mine. Fully mine.
Ashley was waddling across the grass, chasing a butterfly. She was walking now, stumbling and laughing, her joy infectious.
Mitchell was living in a studio apartment. He had lost his job after the fraud charges came to light. The school board doesn’t look kindly on teachers who forge legal documents. He was currently working at a car dealership two towns over, his wages heavily garnished to pay me the $2,800 a month the judge had ordered.
Natalie had left him. The moment the money dried up and the social pariah status shifted to them, she was gone. She moved back in with her parents, raising her son alone. Karma, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
A car pulled into my driveway. It was Catherine.
She got out slowly, leaning on a cane she hadn’t needed a year ago. She looked frail. Defeated.
“Emma,” she said, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. She didn’t dare come up.
“Hello, Catherine.”
“I… I brought these.” She held up a bag from a toy store. “For Ashley.”
I looked at the bag, then at her. “She has plenty of toys.”
“Please,” she whispered. Her voice broke. “She’s my granddaughter. I know I don’t deserve it. I know I was horrible. But I’m alone, Emma. Mitchell won’t speak to me. Natalie won’t let me see the boy. You’re all I have left.”
I looked at Ashley, who had stopped running to stare at the stranger in our driveway. She deserved to know her family, even the broken parts.
“You can leave them on the steps,” I said.
