Chapter Four: The Visitor
Simone woke at dawn.
Her neck stiff from sleeping in her clothes.
The house was silent. Dererick and Vanessa still asleep.
She got up quietly. Went downstairs to the kitchen.
The house felt different now. It didn’t feel like home anymore.
It felt like a place she was visiting. A place she had no claim to.
By this afternoon, that feeling would be reality.
She made coffee. Stood by the kitchen window.
The yard looked beautiful in the early light.
She’d spent three years maintaining these gardens while caring for Harold.
Planted roses by the fence because they were his late wife’s favorite.
Created a small vegetable patch that Harold could see from his bedroom window.
All of it would belong to Dererick and Vanessa soon.
Unless Harold had done something.
Simone’s mind drifted back to the man she’d grown so close to.
The real Harold. Not the senile invalid Dererick believed him to be.
The first real conversation she’d had with Harold was two weeks after his stroke.
He’d been frustrated that day. Struggling to make his mouth form words.
The speech therapist had just left. Harold was exhausted.
Simone brought him water. Helped him into his recliner by the window.
“Take your time,” she’d said gently. “There’s no rush.”
Harold looked at her with those sharp blue eyes.
Slowly, carefully, he managed to say, “Thank you.”
Two words. But they meant everything.
From that day forward, they built a routine.
Every morning, Simone helped Harold with his exercises.
Every afternoon, they took short walks around the garden.
Harold using his cane. Simone supporting his weak side.
Every evening, she read to him.
But it was the conversations in between that mattered most.
As Harold’s speech improved, he started telling her stories.
About immigrating to America as a young man with nothing but fifty dollars and a dream.
About working three jobs while going to night school.
About starting his manufacturing company in a tiny rented warehouse.
“I made bearings,” Harold told her once, his words slow but clear.
“Small metal bearings for machinery. Nothing glamorous. But I made them better than anyone else.”
“And I kept my word. If I said a delivery would arrive Tuesday, it arrived Tuesday. If I said a part would last ten thousand cycles, it lasted fifteen thousand.”
“That’s how you built the company,” Simone had said.
“That’s how you build anything worth having,” Harold replied.
“Keep your word. Do quality work. Treat people fairly. Simple rules. But most people can’t follow them.”
Dererick certainly couldn’t.
Even before Harold’s stroke, Dererick had been cutting corners at the company.
Using cheaper materials. Missing deadlines. Blaming others for his mistakes.
Harold had known. He’d known everything.
“Why did you make him vice president?” Simone asked once.
About six months after Harold moved in. They were comfortable enough for honest questions.
Harold sighed.
“Because he’s my son. I kept hoping he’d grow up. That he’d learn responsibility. But some people never learn. They just get better at hiding who they really are.”
“You should have fired him.”
“I should have. But I’m a foolish old man who loves his son. Even when that son doesn’t deserve it.”
Simone squeezed his hand.
“You’re not foolish.”
“We’ll see,” Harold said mysteriously.
The clock on the wall showed 7:30.
An hour and a half until the will reading.
Simone went upstairs to shower and change.
She chose a simple black dress. Professional, but not flashy.
Minimal makeup. Hair tied back.
She wanted to look composed. No matter what happened.
When she came back downstairs, Dererick was in the kitchen making coffee.
He looked at her coldly.
“You look nice. Trying to make a good impression on the lawyer? Won’t matter. The will is ironclad.”
Simone said nothing. Just picked up her purse.
“Where’s your suitcase?” Dererick asked. “I told you to pack.”
“It’s by the door. Just like you asked.”
Dererick nodded. Satisfied.
“Good. Patterson’s office is downtown. We should leave by 8:30.”
He poured his coffee.
“Where’s Vanessa?”
“Still asleep in your room, I assume.”
Dererick had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable.
Only slightly.
“She’s coming to the will reading.”
“That’s inappropriate.”
“I don’t care what you think is appropriate. She’s part of my life now. Get used to it.”
Simone turned away before he could see the look on her face.
Not anger. Not sadness.
Something else. Something harder.
She thought about Harold’s words. About being strong. About knowing her worth.
In ninety minutes, everything would change.
She was ready.
Dererick left the kitchen to wake up Vanessa.
Simone stood alone. Her coffee cold in her hands.
She thought about her suitcase by the door.
About the studio apartment Dererick had found for her in the bad part of town.
About starting over at thirty-six with nothing.
But she also thought about Harold’s lessons.
About standing firm.
About keeping your word.
About the power of being willing to walk away.
Harold had been willing to walk away from his son.
That must have been the hardest decision of his life.
But he’d done it because he believed in something bigger than blood.
He believed in character.
Simone looked at her reflection in the kitchen window.
She looked tired. Worn out, like Vanessa had said.
But there was something else in her eyes now.
Something harder. Determination.
Whatever happened at that reading, she would face it with dignity.
She would not cry.
She would not beg.
She would not give Dererick or Vanessa the satisfaction of seeing her broken.
Harold had given her his strength over those three years.
Now she needed to use it.
The clock ticked toward 8:30.
Dererick and Vanessa came downstairs.
Both dressed for the occasion. Dererick in his best suit.
Vanessa in a tight red dress that was completely inappropriate for a will reading.
“Ready?” Dererick asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s get this over with. We have lunch reservations at one. Me and Vanessa. To celebrate.”
They walked out to Dererick’s car.
Dererick drove. Vanessa in the front passenger seat.
Simone in the back. Like she was being chauffeured. Or arrested.
The drive downtown took thirty minutes.
Dererick and Vanessa chatted about their lunch plans. Their honeymoon plans. Their plans to renovate the house.
They talked about Simone like she wasn’t there.
Simone looked out the window and said nothing.
They arrived at Thomas Patterson’s office building at 8:55.
The law firm occupied the tenth floor of a sleek glass building.
They rode the elevator in silence.
The receptionist showed them to a conference room.
Elegantly furnished. Long table. Leather chairs.
Thomas Patterson was already there.
A thin man in his sixties. Gray hair. Intelligent eyes.
“Good morning,” he said professionally.
“Please sit down. We’ll begin promptly at nine o’clock.”
Dererick and Vanessa sat on one side of the table.
Simone sat on the other side.
Separated from them by distance. And so much more.
Patterson opened his briefcase. Pulled out several folders.
He glanced at Simone.
For just a second, something passed across his face.
Not quite a smile. But something.
Simone’s heart began to beat faster.
The clock on the wall showed 9:00.
“Let’s begin,” Thomas Patterson said.
He opened the first folder.
And Simone’s life changed forever.
