Chapter 106
Amy called before lunch.
"Mommy, Great-grandma and I are downstairs at your office. Come down quick."
I frowned at my phone. "You guys are here? Why?"
"Great-grandma says she wants to take you somewhere."
I grabbed my purse and headed down.
Amy saw me first. She ran over, all bouncing curls and bright smile. "Mommy!"
I caught her in my arms, breathing her in.
"Hi, baby." I kissed her forehead, then looked up at Mrs. Sterling. "What's going on? Where are we going?"
"You'll see," she said, eyes twinkling. "It's a surprise. Come on."
---
After lunch, we got back in the SUV. It drove us west, past Fenway, into Brookline.
The car slowed in front of a three-story Victorian townhouse. Redbrick. Bay windows. A small front yard with an iron gate.
"Here we are." Mrs. Sterling opened her door. "Come on, dear."
A man in a suit stood by the front gate. I recognized him immediately.
James Cooper.
"Mrs. Sterling. Ms. Bennett. Amy." He nodded at each of us. "Good to see you."
"Hi, Mr. Cooper," I said carefully.
"James is fine." He smiled. Then he pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase and held it out to me. "Ms. Bennett, Mr. Sterling has transferred ownership of this property to you. The house is now in your name."
I stared at the envelope. Didn't move.
"Inside you'll find the deed, property tax documents, and the new security codes for the front and back doors," James continued smoothly. "The interior has been fully furnished—appliances, furniture, bedding, everything. You and Amy can move in anytime."
I took the envelope. Opened it. Pulled out the deed.
Property Address: 47 Monmouth Street, Brookline, MA 02446
Owner: Maya Bennett
My name. Right there in legal print.
I'd dreamed about owning my own place for years. Saved every spare dollar. Looked at listings online even though I knew I couldn't afford anything in Boston.
And now I had one.
Just like that.
I should've been happy. Excited. Relieved.
Instead, I felt hollow.
"Ms. Bennett," James said, "I have the contact information for a moving company. If you'd like, I can arrange for them to pack and transport your belongings this weekend."
"Not yet," I said quietly.
James went silent.
Mrs. Sterling took my arm. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go inside. You should at least see it."
---
The inside was beautiful.
Hardwood floors. Crown molding. A fireplace in the living room. The kitchen had marble countertops and stainless steel appliances that looked like they'd never been used.
Everything was decorated in soft neutrals—cream, beige, pale gray. Clean. Elegant. Warm.
Mrs. Sterling led me upstairs. Five bedrooms on the second floor.
The master bedroom had floor-to-ceiling windows, a walk-in closet, and an en-suite bathroom with a clawfoot tub.
Then she pulled me down the hall to another room.
A little girl's room.
The walls were painted lavender. There was a white canopy bed with stuffed animals lined up against the pillows. A bookshelf filled with picture books. A toy chest shaped like a castle.
Amy's eyes lit up. She ran to the bed and climbed on, bouncing.
"Mommy, look! It's so pretty!"
I couldn't speak.
Mrs. Sterling squeezed my hand. "Come on. There's more."
We went up to the third floor. Half of it was a home gym—treadmill, weights, yoga mats. The other half was an enclosed sunroom, all windows and skylights.
Empty planters lined the windowsills.
James appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Sterling said this space is for you to use however you like. He mentioned you enjoy gardening, so he left it unfinished. Thought you'd prefer to design it yourself."
He paused.
"And the backyard has been enclosed with a privacy fence. There's a raised garden bed already installed. Mr. Sterling said you liked to grow vegetables."
The words hit me like a punch.
I was back in Cleveland. Five years ago. Lying on the couch in Adam's apartment, my head on his chest.
"Adam, we should save up and buy a place together. I want something with a patio. That way I can have a small space to plant things."
"You want a garden?" He'd laughed, fingers tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. "Maya, you're twenty-one. Gardening is for retired ladies."
"Maybe I'm an old soul." I'd popped a strawberry into his mouth. "Besides, I don't trust the stuff from the grocery store. They're all pumped full of pesticides and who knows what else. The organic ones at the farmer's market cost a fortune. I'd rather grow my own. At least then I know what I'm eating."
"Fair point." He'd kissed the top of my head.
I blinked.
My eyes stung.
---
We went back downstairs.
"So, Ms. Bennett," James asked. "When would you like to schedule the move?"
Mrs. Sterling looked at me hopefully.
I swallowed. "I need some time. To think about it."
"Maya." Mrs. Sterling took both my hands. "I know this is overwhelming. But you deserve this. You and Amy both."
"I—" I looked down. "I just need time."
"That's fine." She patted my cheek. "When you're ready, just let me know."
---
I called an Uber to get back to work.
The Uber dropped me off at the Garrison Industries parking garage. I got out, walked toward the entrance.
Then I remembered.
The envelope. The deed. I'd left it in my car.
I turned back, heading for my Toyota in the far corner of the lot.
I unlocked the door, leaned in to toss the envelope on the passenger seat—
Someone slammed into me from behind.
I stumbled forward. The envelope fell. Papers scattered across the concrete.
"What the fuck—"
I spun around.
Claire.
"You bitch," she hissed.
I bent down to pick up the papers. "Claire, seriously? What's your problem?"
She grabbed the deed before I could. Her eyes scanned it.
Her face went white. Then red.
"Where did you get this?" she demanded.
I snatched it back. "None of your business."
"Did he give it to you?" Her voice cracked. "Did Adam buy you a house?"
I didn't answer. Just knelt down and started gathering the rest of the papers.
"Oh my God." She laughed. High-pitched and bitter. "You're fucking unbelievable. I thought you were so noble. So above it all. But you're already taking his money, aren't you?"
I stood up, envelope in hand. "Claire, I'm serious. You need help. Go see a therapist or something. This obsession isn't healthy."
"Obsession?" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "You're the one who's obsessed. You won't let him go. You keep dangling your kid in front of him like bait—"
I slapped her.
The sound echoed through the parking garage.
Claire stumbled back, hand flying to her cheek.
"Don't," I said coldly, "talk about my daughter."
She recovered fast. Lunged at me.
I sidestepped. Planted my foot in her stomach.
She hit the ground hard.
For a second, we just stared at each other. Both breathing hard.
Then she scrambled to her feet. Her hand went into her purse.
When it came back out, she was holding a knife.
"I'll kill you," she whispered.