Chapter 3

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My father' s wife. The words echoed in the cavernous silence of my mind. He had married this woman, this manipulative, greedy woman, without even telling me. The slap still burned on my cheek, a physical reminder of a much deeper betrayal.

I looked at my father, truly looked at him, and saw a stranger. He wasn't looking at me, or at my crying daughter in my arms. His full attention was on Brenda, fussing over her, brushing imaginary dust off her clothes, his face a picture of pure devotion. He was treating her like a fragile treasure while I stood there, his own daughter, whom he had just publicly assaulted and disowned with a single, brutal act.

A memory flashed in my mind. It was just a few months ago, right after my mother died. My father was adrift, lost in his self-pity. He complained he couldn't even boil an egg, that the silence in the studio was killing him. "I need a caregiver, Olivia," he had said. "Someone to help out." I was the one who found the agency. I was the one who vetted Brenda. She seemed kind at first, a little too eager to please, but I thought it was just her way. I paid her salary, a generous one, directly from my account. I paid for her to take care of my father, and in return, she had systematically dismantled my family and stolen my mother' s legacy.

"Dad," my voice was a hoarse whisper. "How could you?"

He finally looked at me, but there was no remorse in his eyes, only irritation. "It's not my fault you have a temper, Olivia. Look at what you did to Brenda. She's a good woman."

He was trying to justify hitting me. He was making me the villain to absolve himself of his own weakness and cruelty.

Brenda, sensing her advantage, chimed in. "The watch, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Now that we're all here, just give it back. It was a wedding gift from my husband."

My mother's watch. A wedding gift to this monster. The thought was so vile it made me feel sick.

I stared at my father, waiting for him to say something, to deny it, to show a single shred of loyalty to my mother's memory.

He didn't.

He cleared his throat and looked me straight in the eye. "Brenda is right. I gave it to her. It's hers now. If you want to remain my daughter, you will respect my wife and you will forget about that watch." He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "Or you can keep fighting, and you can consider yourself disowned. The choice is yours."

That was it. The final break. He was holding our relationship hostage for a piece of metal and glass that he had no right to give away.

A cold, clear calm settled over me. There was nothing left to fight for. The father I knew, or the father I had desperately wanted to believe in, was gone.

I looked from his hard face to Brenda's smug one.

"Fine," I said. My voice was devoid of emotion.

I lowered Lily to the ground and held her hand. I took out my phone. Mark watched me, his expression a mixture of fury and concern. I opened my banking app.

"How much is it worth?" I asked, my eyes fixed on my father.

He looked confused. "What?"

"The watch," I said flatly. "How much do you want for it? Name a price. I'll buy it from your wife."

Brenda's eyes lit up with greed. She whispered something in my father's ear.

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Brenda says it's a rare vintage piece. Fifty thousand dollars."

The amount was absurd, a blatant attempt at extortion. It was worth maybe a fifth of that. The parents still lingering in the gym gasped.

I didn't flinch. I typed the number into my phone, added Brenda's name as the recipient, and hit send. A confirmation screen popped up.

"Done," I said, holding up the phone so they could see. "Fifty thousand dollars. For my own mother's watch. Now it's mine again."

I turned to leave, pulling Lily with me. My daughter looked back over her shoulder at her grandfather, her little face confused and sad.

"Grandpa?" she whispered.

My father didn't answer. He was too busy looking at Brenda' s phone, watching the notification of the money transfer appear on her screen.

As soon as we were in the car and the doors were locked, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Mark just squeezed my shoulder, not saying a word, which was exactly what I needed.

I wasn't done. The shock had worn off, replaced by a steely resolve.

I made my first call. It was to my financial manager.

"Hello, Tom," I said, my voice steady. "I need you to immediately stop all automatic payments to my father, Henry Vance. The monthly allowance, the studio maintenance fees, everything. Yes, effective immediately. No, there's no need for a discussion. It's final."

I hung up.

Then I made my second call. It was to my lawyer.

"Jessica, it's Olivia Vance," I said. "I need to start legal proceedings. I gifted my father a studio apartment a few years ago. I want it back. It's in my name. I want him evicted."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Olivia, are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I said. "He chose his side. Now I'm choosing mine."