Bianca wrapped her fingers around his hand, forcing the pen between them, pushing toward the signature line. The notary watched nervously, knowing something about this scene felt wrong, yet blinded by the promised payment.
The door burst open.
Teresa stood there, eyes blazing.
“Stop,” she shouted. “You cannot do this. He is disabled. This is abuse.”
Peter turned, grabbed Teresa’s arm, and shoved her backward. She hit the floor, gasping, but immediately rose again, placing herself between the children who had followed her and the men in suits.
Bianca’s patience snapped.
“Security,” she yelled. “Remove them. All of them. Now.”
Two guards entered. They lifted Gregory from the bed with rough hands and dropped him into an old wheelchair stored in the corner. The twins cried as Teresa wrapped her arms around them.
Within minutes, the family was pushed out of the mansion. The iron gates closed behind them with a final clang that echoed through the storm.
Rain soaked Teresa’s hair and clothes. She grabbed the wheelchair handles and pushed forward through mud and gravel, slipping but never letting go. The children clung to her sides as she guided them toward the distant glow of a bus shelter.