The deputy’s voice cut in. “Sir, she’s here for belongings. Keep it civil.”
Thomas’s gaze sharpened with annoyance at being instructed on his own property. Then he forced something like a smile.
“Of course,” he said.
Emily stepped inside, every muscle tense.
The house smelled the same—clean, expensive, empty.
Thomas watched her closely as she moved toward the staircase. “This is a mistake,” he said quietly, like he was speaking to a child. “You’re reacting emotionally.”
Emily stopped and turned. Her hands shook slightly, but she kept her chin up.
“No,” she said. “I’m reacting to fraud.”
Thomas’s smile vanished. “Be careful,” he said, and the words were soft but edged.
Emily felt the deputy shift behind her.
She didn’t flinch. “Be careful?” she repeated. “Like you were careful with the truth?”
Thomas’s eyes flashed. For the first time, his calm mask slipped just enough for her to see something sharp underneath—impatience, entitlement, and a quiet belief that he should get what he wanted because he had paid for it.
“I offered your family a future,” he said. “Your father—your mother—”
“Don’t,” Emily said, voice hard. “Don’t pretend this was kindness.”
Thomas took a breath, regaining control. “You signed,” he said. “You agreed.”
Emily’s stomach turned. “Because you lied,” she said. “Because you said you had a year to live.”
Thomas’s eyes held hers. “I have a year,” he said.
Emily blinked. “What?”
Thomas’s voice remained calm, but now it was colder. “A year,” he said again. “To meet an obligation.”
Emily felt something ice over inside her.
He wasn’t denying it.
He was just reframing it.
He was telling her the truth in the most monstrous way possible: he had never meant a year to live.
He meant a year to win.
Emily stared at him, horrified all over again.
The deputy cleared her throat. “Ma’am, do you want to proceed upstairs?”
Emily swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered.
She went to the bedroom and grabbed what she could—clothes, toiletries, the few personal items she’d brought. Her hands moved quickly, mechanically. She didn’t look at the bed.
Downstairs, Thomas stood near the base of the stairs, watching her like a judge.
When she came down with her suitcase, he spoke again, voice smooth. “If you leave,” he said, “you’re walking away from everything I promised.”
Emily paused at the doorway.
Ruth’s thin face flashed in her mind. Her father behind bars. The hunger. The fear.
And then she saw the contract again, the clause that would erase her after a year.
She looked Thomas directly in the eyes.
“I would rather have nothing,” she said, “than be owned.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened. “You’re being dramatic.”
Emily almost smiled. “No,” she said. “I’m being free.”
She walked out.
The deputy followed.
Behind them, the door closed with the same quiet, expensive click.
And Emily realized she was shaking—not because she regretted leaving, but because she hadn’t known she was capable of standing up to a man like him.
Back at her mother’s house, Emily sat at the kitchen table and tried to breathe.
The legal aid office called her back the next day. They wanted a statement. They wanted details. They told her—carefully—that deception mattered, but proof mattered more. They advised her to document everything: texts, call logs, any written promises, any witnesses to what he said.
Emily scrolled through her phone and found it: the earliest message Thomas had sent when he first reached out after visiting their house.
I’m dying. I don’t want to waste time. This is the arrangement.
Her heart thumped.
It wasn’t everything—but it was something.
She forwarded the message to the legal aid contact.
That afternoon, Thomas’s lawyer contacted her.
A formal email, sterile and threatening without using the word threat.
It suggested Emily had abandoned her marital duties.
It suggested she had taken property.
It suggested she had violated the terms of a private agreement.
It offered her a “settlement” if she returned quietly and complied.
Emily stared at the screen, feeling sick.
Ruth sat on the couch, watching her daughter’s face. “What does it say?” Ruth asked, voice thin.
Emily handed her the phone.
Ruth read, lips trembling, then whispered, “He thinks he can buy you back.”
Emily took the phone and set it down.
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