“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Vance had bequeathed all her assets to me, the sole owner of this house was now me. With absolute power in my hands, I pointed to the front door, which was wide open. The night wind was beginning to bring a gust of cold air, as if signaling to take out the trash quickly. I said the word I had wanted to say for so long. Get out. The word left my mouth lightly, but with a devastating weight for Mark. I didn’t shout. I spoke with the firmness of a queen giving an order in her own domain. I told Mark and Jessica to get out of my house immediately.

I never wanted to see their faces again. I didn’t want the air of the house my mother had left me to be further contaminated by their breath. Mark tried to resist. He stood up and tried to grab my hand, perhaps to plead or to threaten. I don’t know. But before his dirty fingers could touch my skin, Mr. Harrison’s two bodyguards moved swiftly, grabbing both his arms, twisting them behind his back, and restraining him forcefully. Mark thrashed like a madman, shouting and insulting me, calling me an ungrateful wife, but his screams only sounded like the barking of a trapped dog. The bodyguards dragged Mark by force towards the exit.