Page 8 of Billion Dollar Revenge

“And how are you doing today?” she asks, her tone laced with concern.

“Well, alright,” I say, not wanting to waste energy on Bobby. “I called to thank you for the birthday card, but you put a check in by mistake.”

Her hearty laugh bubbles down the line. “It wasn’t a mistake, darling. It’s to encourage you to open the studio.”

I touch the check, still in disbelief. “This is a lot of money.”

I stare at the one hundred thousand dollars as if I am seeing an extra zero, but every time I glance down, it’s there.

“It’s from your grandparents. They wanted us to look out for you.”

Clutching the phone, I swallow past the pain in the back of my throat. “You and Dad should enjoy it.”

They could go on more holidays together, buy a different house, anything but give this to me.

“We do, but we don’t need that much to be happy.”

I pull the elastic from my ponytail, my hand raking through my hair as I try to ease the tension that has shifted from my throat to my head. “I don’t know about a studio.”

“It might be a good distraction. And darling, you hate the assistant job.”

The sound of wind through the phone has me picturing her now sitting on the porch, in one of the chairs, looking out into their picturesque garden. It’s my dad’s pride and joy.

“I do hate it.” Bobby found it and begged I apply, saying “his wife needed a stable job.” He knew my weakness for marriage, and he fucking played on it. Whenever I considered leaving him, he’d make comments about how he’d looked at rings or how he’ddreamt of a rooftop wedding, all to keep me from walking away. He manipulated my desires and fears, using them to control and keep me in the relationship.

“Only you can turn your life around,” she says softly.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and say, “It’s just a big risk.”

“Do you need more money to survive until it’s up and running? I’ll send you more.”

Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I hold them back. “No, you’ve given me more than enough.”

“Then what is it?”

It’s funny how much my mother knows I’m holding back, even from miles away.

I sigh a heavy breath and reopen my eyes. “I’m scared to fail. I don’t have a clue about how to run a business.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try,” she says.

I hold the check, staring at it again.

“This will give you a new focus,” she adds, sensing I need more encouragement.

“And you think I can do it?” I whisper.

“Yes!” she shrieks. “You are a Macfarlane. It’s in your blood.”

“What if I can’t get clients?”

“You will, but you can always sell it and come back home and figure out your next move.”

I sit up straight, feeling my pulse rise with possibilities. “I have no idea where to start.”

“First, quit that miserable job. Then, go look at some spaces.”

I wish I could match her enthusiasm. “I don’t know…”

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