Chapter 263 Cheating

Amelia's POV:

"You've become so heartless," she spat. "Money changed you. You used to care about family."

"Me? Heartless?" I scoffed. "You've always put everyone else before me. That worthless father of mine, your useless brother Joseph—everyone comes before your own daughter. It's sickening."

"Amelia!" she gasped. "How dare you speak about your father and uncle that way!"

"No, Mom. I'm done. You made your choice years ago about who matters more in your life. Don't come crying to me when Dad blows through that money in a month."

"How can you be so cruel? After everything I've done for you?"

"I'm not being cruel," I insisted. "I'm trying to protect you from yourself. Dad has manipulated you for years, and you keep falling for it. I won't let you drag me and my family into this cycle anymore."

"Fine," she snapped. "I'll do what I think is right, with or without your support."

I took a deep breath. "That's your choice. But please understand the consequences. If you give away your financial security to a man who's abused you for decades, I can't fix it for you this time."

The line went silent again. When Helen spoke, her voice trembled with anger. "You've changed since you married rich. You think you're too good for us now."

"That's not fair," I said quietly. "I've offered to help you start over. I found you a great lawyer. I've been there every step of the way. What I won't do is watch you throw away your future and then clean up the mess."

"I don't need to listen to this," she said. "I'm your mother. You should respect my decisions."

"Respect goes both ways, Mom. When you make decisions that hurt yourself—and by extension, hurt me and my kids—you're not showing respect for our family."

"I'm done with this conversation," Helen declared. "I'll call the lawyer tomorrow and tell him to proceed with the sale."

"Hold on," I said, my voice firm. "I'm coming over tomorrow. We're going to settle this once and for all."

"Why bother?" Helen's voice was cold, but I detected uncertainty beneath it.

"Because I'm not dealing with this again six months from now when you're out of money. Don't sign anything until I get there."

After a pause, she huffed. "Whatever. I'll be home in the afternoon."

The line went dead. I tossed my phone onto the bed, anger and frustration washing over me in equal measure.

Luke moved closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I just knew this would happen," I said, leaning into him. "Every single time, it's the same pattern. She threatens to leave, then finds some way to sabotage herself."

"Are you sure you want to go over there tomorrow?"

I nodded. "I have to put a stop to this. The absolute last thing I need is for her to sell that house, let Dad blow through the money, and then show up on our doorstep with nowhere to go."

The next day, I drove to my parents' modest house in Maple Heights. The neighborhood hadn't changed—same cracked sidewalks, same tired-looking houses with patchy lawns. I parked in the driveway, noticing that my mom's car and dad's electric bike were nowhere to be seen. Mom was probably at her shift at the diner, and Dad was likely at his usual bar.

I used my old key to let myself in, planning to wait for Helen to return. The house was cluttered but quiet, giving me time to gather my thoughts. I'd give Mom one more chance to see reason before I had to harden my heart for good.

Glancing at my watch, I figured I had at least an hour before she'd be home. I wandered into the kitchen, grimacing at the unwashed dishes in the sink and empty beer bottles on the counter. Dad's handiwork, no doubt.

Just as I was about to sit down with my phone, I heard keys jingling at the front door, followed by low voices and laughter. That couldn't be Mom—her shift wouldn't end for at least another hour.

I stepped quietly toward the hallway, then froze as I heard my father's slurred voice, followed by a woman's high-pitched giggle that definitely wasn't Helen.

My heart pounded as I slipped into the adjacent dining room, partially hidden behind the corner but with a clear view of the entryway. The front door swung open, and there stood my father, George Wilson, his arm wrapped tightly around a woman who was decidedly not my mother.

"Nobody's home," he was saying, his words slightly blurred from drinking. "We've got the place to ourselves for hours."

The woman—bleached blonde hair, tight clothes, heavily made-up—pressed herself against him. "Perfect," she purred, reaching up to kiss him.

I felt sick to my stomach but forced myself to pull out my phone. This was exactly what I needed—irrefutable proof of his betrayal. I started recording as George led the woman toward the living room, both of them oblivious to my presence.

"Helen's at work?" the woman asked, giggling as George nuzzled her neck.

"Yeah, won't be back till five or so. Plenty of time for us."

I'd seen enough. Still recording, I stepped out from my hiding place. "Really, Dad? In Mom's house?"

They sprang apart like they'd been electrocuted. George's face morphed from shock to anger in seconds.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled.

I held up my phone, making sure he saw I was recording. "Getting evidence. Mom needs to see exactly what kind of man she's about to destroy her financial future for."

The woman grabbed her purse. "I'm out of here," she muttered, rushing past me toward the door.

"Wait—" George called after her, but she was already gone.

He turned on me, face flushed with rage and alcohol. "You little bitch. You've always tried to turn your mother against me."

"You've done that all by yourself," I replied coldly, still recording. "All these years, using her, manipulating her, and now cheating on her too? I'm sending this straight to Mom."

"Delete that right now," he growled, stepping toward me.

I backed away, keeping the phone out of his reach. "Not a chance. Mom deserves to know the truth before she makes the biggest mistake of her life."

His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"The house," I said. "She's thinking of selling it and giving you half the money. But I'm guessing this video will change her mind."

Panic flashed across his face. "You can't—"

"I already am," I said, quickly sending the video to my own phone as backup, then texting it to Helen with a simple message: This is what he's doing while you're at work. Please don't sell the house for him.

George lunged toward me, but years of his drunken aggression had taught me to stay out of reach. As I dodged him, I noticed a stack of papers on the coffee table. On top was my mother's house deed.

In a split-second decision, I grabbed it and shoved it into my purse.

"What are you taking?" George demanded, his words slurring more as his anger intensified.