The Truth on the Balcony
… “As soon as I marry this goofy girl, you and I will be set for life. She has no idea the trust fund unlocks the moment the certificate is signed. We take the cash, dump the brat, and disappear to Rio. Just hang tight, babe.”
My blood turned to ice. I stood frozen behind the balcony door, my hand clutching the curtain so hard my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t just a mismatch of age—it was a robbery. He was talking to his real girlfriend.
I knew if I stormed in screaming, my daughter, Maya, would just defend him. She was too brainwashed. I needed cold, hard proof.
With shaking hands, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I hit the voice memo app and held it through the crack in the door.
“Are you sure she won’t sign a prenup?” the woman on the other end asked (I could hear her voice faintly through his speakerphone).
Edison laughed—a cold, ugly sound I’d never heard him make in front of Maya. “Please. I have her wrapped around my finger. I told her prenups are for people who don’t trust each other. She ate it up. The money is ours in three weeks.”
I stopped the recording. That was it. That was the nail in the coffin.
I took a deep breath, wiped the tears of rage from my face, and walked back into the living room. Maya was sitting on the sofa, looking at wedding cake samples, smiling like an angel. Edison walked in from the balcony a second later, putting his “doting fiancé” mask back on.
“Sorry about that,” Edison said smoothly. “Just a boring work call.” He went to sit next to my daughter and put his arm around her. “Now, where were we, my love?”
“Get your hands off her,” I said. My voice was deadly quiet.
Maya looked up, annoyed. “Mom, stop. I told you—”
“I said, get away from her.” I walked over and placed my phone on the coffee table. “Maya, I am going to ask you to do one thing for me. Just one thing as your mother. Listen to this. If you still want to marry him after this, I will pay for the wedding myself and never speak a word against him again.”
Maya hesitated, looking from me to Edison. Edison looked confused, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. “What is this? Danna, you’re being dramatic.”
I pressed play.
Edison’s voice filled the silent room: “…As soon as I marry this goofy girl… dump the brat… trust fund unlocks…”
The color drained from Edison’s face. He lunged for the phone, but I snatched it back.
“It’s… that’s out of context!” he stammered, backing away. “It was a… a movie script! I was rehearsing lines with a friend!”
Maya sat perfectly still. The silence was terrifying. She stood up slowly. She didn’t look like a child anymore. She looked like a woman who had just had her heart ripped out.
“A script?” Maya asked, her voice trembling. “You called me a ‘goofy girl.’ You called me a ‘brat.’ You’ve never acted a day in your life, Edison.”
“Maya, baby, listen—” he tried to reach for her.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she screamed, the sound echoing off the walls. She grabbed the glass of wine sitting on the table and threw the contents directly into his face. “Get out. Get out before I call the police!”
Edison looked at me, then at Maya. The mask was gone. He sneered, wiped the wine from his eyes, and grabbed his jacket. “Fine. You were annoying anyway. Enjoy being alone.”
He slammed the door as he left.
Maya stood there shaking for a moment, then collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. I rushed over and wrapped my arms around her, holding her while she cried the kind of tears that only come from a first heartbreak.
“I’m so stupid,” she sobbed into my shoulder. “Mom, I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not,” I whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re young, and you have a big heart, and someone tried to take advantage of that. But you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
It took time for her to heal. We cancelled the venue, returned the dress, and blocked his number. But that night, as I held my daughter on the living room floor, I didn’t feel angry anymore. I just felt grateful.
I had my daughter back. And her future was hers again.
