Chapter 1: Water on the Persian Rug
To the Morrison family, I was nothing more than the awkward pregnant ex-wife: a woman to be tolerated, ridiculed, and ultimately discarded.
They had dedicated their lives to climbing the corporate ladder of a multi-million dollar empire, never suspecting that the woman they humiliated at Sunday dinner was the one who held the keys to their existence.
Icy water dripped from my hair onto the polished floor and pooled on the expensive Persian rug beneath my feet. I recognized that rug. I had approved its purchase years ago during a budget review, back when they still smiled at me in public and called me family in private.
Diane Morrison left the empty bucket with a satisfied smile, as if she had finally cleaned a stain.
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