Kayla’s breath hitched. «He did what?» she snapped. «In front of everyone?» I nodded, though she couldn’t see me, and recounted the scene: the public demand, Tara’s fake tears, Mom’s accusations, the guests’ stares.
Kayla listened, her silence heavy with anger. «You don’t deserve this,» she said finally. «You’ve carried that family for years, and this is how they repay you.» I closed my eyes, her words anchoring me. She paused, then added, «You need to call Margaret. Your grandmother will shut this down.»
I opened my eyes, a spark of resolve igniting. Kayla was right. Grandma Margaret, my grandmother, had always seen through my family’s games. At 80, she held the family’s financial strings, her sharp mind unyielding.
«Do it, Jenna,» Kayla urged. «She’ll back you.» I scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hovering over Margaret’s name. The hallway was silent, the distant hum of the party barely audible. I pressed the call button, my heart pounding but certain. My fingers trembled, but I felt a strength I hadn’t known before. The line rang once, twice, then clicked.
«Jenna,» Grandma’s voice was steady, expectant. I took a breath, ready to tell her everything.
Thirty minutes later, the apartment door swung open. Grandma Margaret strode in, her silver cane tapping the floor with commanding rhythm. At 80, she still carried herself like a queen, her sharp eyes cutting across the room. The guests froze, whispers dying instantly. I stood at the back, my cheek still burning, watching as her presence swallowed the noise into silence.
«Daniel,» she said, her voice low but edged with steel. «Explain why you dared to lay a hand on my granddaughter.» My father’s face drained of color, the microphone nearly slipping from his grip. The room held its breath.
Margaret didn’t wait for an answer. She raised her cane, pointing toward the floor. «You have five minutes to find the earring. If not, I’ll handle this myself.» A jolt rippled through the guests. They exchanged uneasy glances. Tara dropped to her knees, scrambling across the floor, her designer dress dragging.
My mother clutched my father’s arm, eyes wide with panic. «Mother, please,» she stammered, but Margaret lifted her hand, silencing her. Aunt Nancy and Uncle George stood rigid, their earlier smugness gone.
I watched, my heart steady yet heavy, as Margaret turned to address the crowd. «Jenna is the only one I trust,» she declared, her voice carrying through the room. «She built her life with her own hands—no excuses, no handouts—unlike some of you.» Her eyes speared my father, then my mother, then Tara, who froze mid-search, her face twisting.
«Daniel, you run a company but can’t run your family fairly. Susan, you coddled Tara into uselessness. And Tara,» her voice dropped, not with kindness, «you’ve taken enough from your sister.»
Gasps erupted, phones lifted, capturing every word. Margaret stepped forward, her cane tapping rhythmically. «I’ve made my decision,» she announced, her gaze brushing mine. «I am rewriting my will. Everything—my estate, my investments, my properties—will go to Jenna.»
Chaos broke loose. My mother let out a strangled cry, hands flying to her mouth. «You can’t!» she screamed, her voice cracking. Tara collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Her tears were no longer calculated but desperate. My father stood rigid, jaw clenched tight, while Aunt Nancy whispered, «This is outrageous,» to Uncle George, who nodded, pale as stone.
The guests buzzed, shock rippling across the room. Mrs. Larson clutched her purse, muttering, «She’s leaving it all to Jenna.» Another guest, a colleague of Tara’s, shook her head. «Tara’s finished now.» The string quartet stood frozen, instruments silent.
I stayed quiet, my hands clasped, absorbing the weight of Margaret’s words. She wasn’t only defending me; she was tearing down years of lies. Our eyes met, and she gave me a small nod, fierce yet proud.
Tara’s sobs grew louder. «Grandma, please,» she begged, her voice breaking. «I didn’t mean for this.» Margaret’s expression didn’t falter. «You meant every bit of it,» she replied coldly. «You knew your father’s plan, and you let it happen.»
My father stepped forward, his voice trembling. «Mother, you’re overreacting. Jenna’s fine; she’s strong.» Margaret’s eyes narrowed. «Strong because she had to be,» she snapped. «No thanks to you.» My mother tried again, her tone pleading, «We’re a family, Mother. Don’t tear us apart.»
But Margaret turned away, her cane striking firmly as she walked toward me. The five minutes slipped by. The earring, hidden in my pocket, was never found. Margaret never asked. She knew. «This family has failed Jenna,» she declared, her voice echoing. «You’ve shamed her, used her, and even struck her. No more.»
Guests shifted uncomfortably, some averting their eyes, others still recording. The air grew thick, the glamour of the party shattered. I stood still, chest tight but resolve unshaken. Margaret’s words were my shield, her decision my lifeline. The chaos—my mother’s panic, Tara’s tears, my father’s silence—felt distant, like a storm I no longer had to endure.
That night, in my own penthouse, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Notifications flooded my screen. The live stream from Tara’s party was going viral. Comments poured in, condemning my father’s actions and questioning the family’s morals. «Disgusting behavior,» one user wrote. «Jenna deserves better,» another posted. The video had racked up thousands of views, each share amplifying the public’s outrage.
I sat on my couch, the city skyline glowing through my windows, and scrolled through the posts, my chest tight with a mix of vindication and exhaustion. My phone pinged again—a message from a mutual friend. Ethan’s family was reconsidering the wedding, shaken by the scandal. «They’re worried about Tara’s baggage,» the message read. «The drama’s too much.»
I set the phone down, my mind racing. Tara’s engagement, her one anchor, was slipping away because of her own family’s actions. Part of me felt a flicker of pity, but it faded fast. She’d stood by while Dad humiliated me, her silence as damning as his hand.
The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent. I opened it to find my father and mother standing there, their faces drawn. Dad’s shoulders slumped, his usual confidence gone. «Jenna, we need to talk,» he said, his voice low. Mom nodded, her eyes red. «We’re sorry,» she added, her tone pleading. «The pressure to support Tara… it got out of hand.»
I crossed my arms, my jaw tight. Their words felt hollow, rehearsed. «You think an apology fixes this?» I asked, my voice steady but cold. «You demanded my home, then struck me in front of everyone.»
Dad flinched, but Mom pressed on. «We’re family, Jenna. We made a mistake.» I shook my head, my resolve hardening. «Your mistake cost me my trust,» I said. «You chose Tara over me, again and again. I’m done.» Dad’s face reddened, but he didn’t argue. Mom reached out, her hand trembling, but I stepped back.
«Please, Jenna,» she whispered. I closed the door, their silhouettes fading through the frosted glass. My heart pounded, but I felt lighter, like a weight had lifted. I wasn’t their pawn anymore.
Kayla arrived an hour later, her expression fierce as she hugged me. «You did the right thing,» she said, settling onto the couch. «They don’t get to walk back what they did.» I nodded, pouring us both coffee. «The internet’s tearing them apart,» I said, showing her the posts.
Kayla scanned them, her lips curving slightly. «Good. Let them face the consequences.» She set the phone down, her gaze steady. «You’re stronger than they’ll ever be, Jenna. Cut them off for good.» Her words sank in, solidifying my decision. I’d spent years trying to earn their respect, but no more.
My phone chimed again, this time an email from Grandma Margaret. I opened it, my breath catching. «Jenna,» it began. «My decision stands. The will is being redrafted, naming you as my sole heir. You’ve proven your worth not just to me, but to yourself. Stay strong.»