Chapter 8: A New Homecoming

I brought Emily back to my parents’ place. The old porch swing creaked as we climbed the steps, the kitchen filled with the scent of leftover pot roast. A bowl of Halloween candy sat on the counter, and my dad’s faded Bears mug was by the sink.

Daniel was working late at the state capitol, texting me encouragement and promising he’d be home soon.

My parents spoiled Emily, fussing over her and plying her with cookies until she yawned. She curled up under a patchwork quilt my mom sewed years ago.

I turned on the lamp and got to work at the kitchen table, papers and tax forms spread everywhere. There was no avoiding the mess of dividing up a life.

The Miller house was full of things that had to be sorted—joint purchases, gifts, memories boxed up and labeled.

I worked late into the night, the old clock ticking as I checked and re-checked the lists.

Early the next morning, I hired movers and marched back to the Miller house in jeans and a blazer, ready for anything.

I wanted Michael to see I wasn’t afraid.

Rachel rushed over, pale and anxious.

Our longtime housekeeper checked off each item as the movers carried it out. The staff worked quickly, not meeting Rachel’s eyes.

Rachel edged closer, twisting her hands in her sweater. "Did you misunderstand? Michael hasn’t divorced you, but you’re so eager to cut ties."

I looked at her and smiled, cold as winter. "I heard Michael gave you a big church wedding, white dress and all."

She blushed. "Yes."

"You’re his wife now. Our laws don’t allow two wives. Since he married you, it’s over for me."

Rachel lowered her head, eyes darting. She reached out, grabbing my sleeve—her voice shaking, shoulders hunched, like she wanted to beg for something that didn’t exist here.

"So you do care. I’m willing to step aside, let you be his wife."

I honestly didn’t understand. Why beg for a title that isn’t real? Why hand over power that way?

The thought unsettled me, and I shook her off, a wave of exhaustion passing through me.

Rachel fell back, eyes brimming with tears, staring at me from behind her hair. She looked so lost, but all I felt was tired.

I sensed Michael’s arrival before I saw him—the air in the room tightened. He looked like he hadn’t slept, dark circles under his eyes, posture rigid.

His voice was rough. "I checked up on you. The car you drove back to Chicago wasn’t from your family. It was a luxury ride—way above your pay grade. In Austin, you were alone. Only someone with real status could own that car."

He paused, suspicion darkening his eyes.

"Your husband, right? But every man in Austin with that kind of money is married already. Did you settle for being someone’s mistress, or—"

He didn’t finish. The word hung in the air—ugly, mean.

Even after ten years together, he could still think so little of me. Shame and rage flushed my face.

Rage snapped. I grabbed the calculator from the table and hurled it at his shoulder. The plastic hit with a thud.

Michael winced, grabbing his shoulder, sweat beading on his brow. For a second, I almost felt sorry for him.

Rachel cried out, stepping between us, her own pain forgotten. "Michael’s a public official! How dare you!"

I pointed at him, my hand shaking. "He tried to ruin my reputation. What do you expect me to do?"

As we faced off, Ethan burst into the room, face pale, fists clenched. He fiddled with his shoelaces, glancing at the door, then finally blurted, "Was Dad wrong? If you’re not a mistress, where else could you go?"

I stared at him, my heart going cold. The disappointment weighed heavy.

"Ethan Miller, look at me."

He looked up, defiant.

"You owe me an apology. Look me in the eye and tell me the truth."

He stood there, silent. The silence stretched on, thick and stubborn.

I didn’t budge. "I’m your mother. You will speak to me with respect. That’s the only way forward."