Chapter 9 - The Mockery
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Derek leaned over the foot of my bed, placing his hands flat on the mattress, pressing down slightly near my elevated, cast-encased leg. I winced from the pressure, though the pain was managed by medication.
“Listen to me very carefully, Abigail,” Derek said, his voice dropping into a low, menacing growl. “This little rebellion ends today. You’re coming home tomorrow.”
“I’m not going back to that house,” I whispered, keeping my tone fragile. “You left me on the floor for hours. Your mother broke my leg with a rolling pin.”
Brenda scoffed loudly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! I barely touched you! You tripped over your own awkward feet because you were being disrespectful! If your bone snapped, it’s because you have weak, pathetic bones!”
“And let’s be very clear about what happens next,” Derek added, taking a folded document out of his suit jacket and tossing it onto my lap. “You’re going to sign this statement right now.”
I looked down at the document. It was a drafted affidavit stating that I had suffered an accidental fall down the basement stairs due to dizziness, completely absolving Derek and Brenda of any wrongdoing.
“And once you sign that,” Derek continued, tapping his expensive watch, “you are turning over your power of attorney to me. You will resign from your marketing director position by Monday. My mother will be staying with us full-time to supervise your recovery and manage your daily schedule.”
“You want to turn me into a prisoner,” I said, looking into his cold eyes.
“We want to make you an obedient wife,” Derek corrected, smiling cruelly. “You had too much freedom, Abbey. Your little career, your independent bank account... it gave you ideas above your station. A broken leg is just the reset button you needed.”
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“And if I refuse to sign?” I asked softly.
Brenda leaned in again, her small eyes narrowing. “If you refuse, Derek will file for immediate guardianship based on your history of ‘mental instability.’ We’ll have you committed to a psychiatric ward, and you’ll never see a dime of your inheritance. You have no phone, no money, and no one to help you.”
