Page 162 of Untying the Knot
Mr. Tarkin continues. “‘Therefore, I hereby bequeath my retirement, life insurance, survivor benefit plan, and my personal savings to my daughter, Myla. The house that is under my name, I have given to Miranda and the boys to do what they would like with it.’”
“What?” Mom shouts, as my jaw hits the table.
“‘And as for my possessions, I request they are donated to goodwill. My art collection to the Veteran’s League of Chicago is to be sold at value or to be used for decoration. I hope this is a lesson to whoever is in this room: treat those close to you with kindness, don’t be a coward like me, and never let anyone or anything hold you back from what you truly want in life.’”
Mr. Tarkin removes his glasses and pinches his nose, clearly relieved that he got through that.
“This is preposterous. How do I know that letter wasn’t forged?”
“We have a record of two witnesses watching him write it as well as the document being notarized. It’s truly from him.” He glances down at his watch. “And I’m sorry to have to run, but I was told to deliver this message and leave. Myla, any questions you might have regarding your father’s estate, please feel free to contact me, but this is all you will need.” He slides me a thick envelope. “Mrs. Moore, I am sorry to say, but you have thirty days to vacate the premises. Any damages to the property before leaving must be fixed by you or an outside contractor. If you would like to dispute this, please feel free to find your own attorney, but I will say this, you will not win in court. Good luck to both of you.”
And then Mr. Tarkin is out of his chair and out of the conference room, shutting the door behind him.
The moment the door clicks shut, Mom turns her fury on me. “You made him do this, didn’t you?”
“What? No.” I shake my head.
“He changed this a year ago? That’s just around the time that you started visiting us again. This is your way of getting back at me. This is how you treat the one constant in your life? I always knew you were a selfish whore, but—”
“Enough,” Ryot says, slamming his fist on the table, startling us both. His back tense, muscles in his arms firing as he leans his hands on the table and stares my mother down. “Once again, I will not sit here and listen to you berate my girlfriend because it makes you feel better. It’s time to come to terms with the facts, Verna, and the fact of the matter is, you’re an absolute piece of shit. You have convinced yourself that you are the victim in your life when in reality, you’re the monster. This woman, sitting right next to me, the woman I love, she’s not a product of you, nor your late husband. She’s a product of what not to be. She is proof that good can come from evil. She has a heart, she has a soul, and she has several caring bones in her body. And despite the uphill climb her childhood was, she has prevailed, and I will be damned if I ever see you near her again.” Ryot takes my hand and pulls me up from the chair. “If I hear at any point that you contact her, or even go near her, you will have me to answer to, as well as the cops. Assault and battery won’t look good on that precious, squeaky-clean image you attempt to portray. Oh, and we have witnesses and pictures. Stay the fuck away from my girl.”
And with that, he guides me toward the door and out of the office, leaving me and my mom in an absolute state of shock.
When we reach the elevator, I feel his entire body shaking, trembling, ready to fire.
“Ryot.”
“Not right now,” he says, but it’s not in an angry tone. It’s quieter. He hears me, but he doesn’t want to discuss anything yet.
We walk hand in hand to his car where he opens the door for me, helps me in, and then retreats to his side. The entire time, my heart is beating a mile a minute, and my palms are sweaty. It doesn’t feel like I can suck enough air into my lungs because . . . oh my God, I can’t believe Ryot did that.
I can’t believe he put my mom in her place.
He . . . defended me.
Protected me.
Made sure that she will never, ever interfere with my life again.
I’m . . . I’m speechless.
I’m grateful.
I’m overwhelmed because I feel like this is what I’ve been waiting for my entire life, this . . . freedom. She’s not going to bother me. She’s not going to ever touch me again. And that is the most liberating thing I’ve ever felt.
And it’s all because of him.
Ryot climbs into his seat and grips the steering wheel tightly before letting out a deep breath. “Fuck, Myla, I’m sorry.” He’s sorry? What could he possibly be sorry for? He changed everything. In a matter of seconds, this weight that has been heavy on my shoulders, chipped and tarnished from my childhood, was lifted and shattered into the ground. He always said he would help me carry my baggage, but this right here, this was him unloading it forever, and I’m so grateful. He grips the steering wheel tighter. “I wasn’t thinking, but I wasn’t going to sit there and let that piece of shit—”
I swoop across the console, grip both of his cheeks, swivel his head toward me, and kiss him. Hard.
He’s stunned at first, but then when he realizes what’s going on, he slips his hand under my curtain of hair and to the back of my head where he holds me in place.
Tears stream down my cheeks as our mouths clash and collide. His soft lips part and our tongues dance together, reminding me how much I love this man, how much I’ve missed him.
How much I need him.
I part from him, only slightly though. I press my forehead against his and say, “I love you, Ryot. And I’m so sorry for how I treated you this past week.”
