Chapter 3: My Dowry, My Rules

Rachel pointed at me, practically yelling.

Her cheeks were blotchy with anger, her voice cracking. She jabbed a manicured finger at me, ready to make a scene worthy of reality TV.

“If you weren’t a widow, I’d have you arrested!”

She actually said it—like she could call the sheriff to drag me out over some bedsheets.

“Acting like thieves! You may be lowborn, but you’ve been in the Whitaker family for ten years.”

She seemed determined to remind me I’d never really belong.

“Haven’t you learned any manners at all?”

She was practically spitting with fury. It almost made me laugh.

I forced myself to stay alert. “I’m moving my own things. What’s the problem?”

I folded my arms, voice steady. I wouldn’t let her see me flinch.

She couldn’t believe it. “Your things? Your people went into my room to steal. How are those your things?”

She eyed the open boxes, searching for something to accuse me of.

I played confused and asked Grace, “Didn’t I tell you to only move what’s on the list? You can’t possibly not recognize our own belongings, right?”

I kept my tone cool, almost amused. Grace nodded solemnly.

Grace immediately produced the list.

She handed it to Rachel, her expression fierce. “We followed every instruction, ma’am. Nothing from the Whitaker family or Mrs. Rachel was touched.”

“Ma’am, we only moved what was on the list and never touched anything belonging to the Whitaker family or Mrs. Rachel.”

Grace held up the detailed inventory, showing off her careful handwriting.

Rachel still didn’t get it. “What list?”

She looked bewildered, as if she’d never considered I might be organized enough to keep records.

I replied, “My personal belongings, of course. When I married Alan, my family helped us get back on our feet—every dish and quilt was from them. I’m leaving the Whitaker estate, so I’m taking the things I brought into the marriage.”

I watched her face turn from confusion to suspicion.

Rachel obviously didn’t believe it and looked at Mrs. Whitaker.

She demanded backup, desperate for someone to side with her.

“Mom, is she telling the truth? Are all those things really hers?”

Her voice cracked, panic starting to seep in.

Mrs. Whitaker’s guilt lasted only a moment before she became self-righteous.

Her mouth set in a hard line. She wanted to play victim, but not if it meant losing her comforts.

“The Whitaker family hasn’t divorced you, so why are you taking your things?”

She tried to sound reasonable, but the fear was obvious.

“If you take everything, what will we use?”

She spread her hands helplessly, as if she’d suddenly realized how empty the house would be.

“I heard you’re also taking all the staff. Are you trying to leave us with nothing?”

She turned her gaze on me, trying to guilt me into staying.

“I can’t do without help, and your two younger sisters are getting older.”

She listed off her needs as if I was still responsible for meeting them.

“In another two years they’ll be getting married. How can they not have staff to help them start their own homes?”

Her voice shook, somewhere between pleading and demanding.

“How can you be so heartless and ungrateful?”

She was getting louder now, putting on a show for anyone who might be listening in the hallway.

She was pretty good at playing the victim first.

If there were Oscars for emotional manipulation, she’d have a shelf full.

I pretended to be surprised. “The Whitaker family can’t function without me?”

I raised my eyebrows, feigning innocence. It was almost fun to watch them squirm.

“Rachel is the judge’s daughter. Surely she can’t be less capable than me, a merchant’s daughter?”

I kept my voice gentle, mocking her earlier bravado.

“I’m sure without me, Rachel will be able to run the estate just fine.”

I could see the panic flicker in Rachel’s eyes. She hadn’t thought this through.

How could Rachel admit she was less capable? She immediately declared, “Mom, let her go. If she’s so heartless, let’s just pretend the Whitaker family never had such a person.”

She crossed her arms, trying to sound braver than she looked.

“Let’s see who regrets it in the end!”

She tossed her hair and looked away, but her voice wavered.

Mrs. Whitaker also decided Rachel was better than me and snorted at me.

She clung to her dignity, lips pursed, refusing to admit defeat.

“If you really want to burn all bridges, then you can never come back to this house.”

She drew herself up, as if making some grand decree.

I pretended to be hurt. “Mom, I’ve worked myself to the bone all these years. Even if I haven’t done anything big, I’ve worked hard.”

I let my voice tremble just enough. Two could play at the guilt game.

“Are you really going to be so heartless?”

I glanced at Rachel, letting the question hang.

Mrs. Whitaker’s face was cold. “You’re the one who disregarded family first and stirred up trouble.”

She wouldn’t budge, no matter how much I tried.

“We only asked you to move out of the master bedroom. Did you need to make such a scene?”

She rolled her eyes, as if I was being dramatic for wanting to keep my dignity.

I kept my innocent look. “Mom, you misunderstood. I’m thinking of the Whitaker family and Caleb.”

I folded my hands in my lap, sounding as earnest as possible.

“The estate has no place for me. I can’t really go squeeze into the staff quarters. If word gets out, people will say Caleb mistreats his widowed sister-in-law.”

I watched Mrs. Whitaker’s expression flicker. Image mattered more than anything to her.

“Caleb works in local government. If that kind of gossip spreads, what about his future?”

I played my trump card, knowing how much she cared about appearances and connections.

Mrs. Whitaker’s expression changed.

She hesitated, torn between pride and fear of scandal.

Rachel didn’t care. “If you don’t spread it, how would anyone know?”

She shrugged, as if rumors were beneath her.

“Even if it does get out, so what? My dad is the county judge. My husband’s future is basically guaranteed.”

She tossed her hair, sure of her power.

Mrs. Whitaker immediately beamed. “Our Caleb is lucky to marry such a capable wife with such a powerful father-in-law.”

She looked at Rachel like she’d won the lottery.

“His future is set.”

She patted Caleb’s arm, beaming with pride.

Rachel said proudly, “Mom, don’t worry. With me here, this family will definitely thrive.”

She straightened her shoulders, looking ready to take on the world—or at least the family dinner.

I had no interest in arguing with her and just wanted to leave the Whitaker estate as soon as possible.

My head was pounding, and I could barely stand to breathe the same air as them.

Staying one more minute with this pack of ungrateful wolves made me sick.

I bit my lip to keep from snapping at them. I just wanted to get out with my pride—and my belongings—intact.

“Since you can’t wait for me to leave, don’t stop me from packing my things.”

I picked up the nearest box and handed it to Ellie. She shot me a grateful smile.

“Unless Judge Miller didn’t give you enough of a start, and you want to take mine.”

I said it softly, but the words landed like a slap.

That hit a nerve.

Rachel’s eyes flashed, and Mrs. Whitaker looked away.

She thought she was so much better than me, but if I outdid her, how could she keep up appearances?

Her pride couldn’t take it—she wanted to be the most important woman in the house, no matter the cost.

Rachel’s face flushed. “Who wants your things? I thought all that belonged to the Whitaker family.”

She spat the words, as if my possessions were suddenly beneath her.

I showed her the list. “If you’re worried, you can check everything yourself.”

I handed her the inventory. She hesitated, then gestured for the housekeeper to start counting.

She actually had people count everything.

They went over every candlestick and quilt, muttering under their breath. The process dragged on, but I didn’t mind. I wanted them to see exactly what they were losing.

Half an hour later, she asked Mrs. Whitaker, embarrassed, “Doesn’t the Whitaker family have anything of their own? With her things gone, the house will be empty!”

She sounded genuinely baffled, as if this was my fault, too.

Mrs. Whitaker’s eyes shifted, but she kept her dignity. “It’s all in storage.”

She sniffed, refusing to admit how dire their finances were.

She knew perfectly well that when I married in, the Whitaker family was already broke.

I’d seen the bills, the collection notices, the panicked look in her eyes when the phone rang.

Otherwise, why would even the house have been mortgaged?

The deed was buried in a drawer somewhere, but the liens were real. I’d paid them off, bit by bit, over the years.

I wondered if Rachel would regret it when she learned the truth.

Some lessons had to be learned the hard way. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

But I no longer cared to stick around and watch, much less worry about this heartless family.

It felt like someone finally cut the anchor I’d been dragging for ten years.

When I left, only the old caretakers came to see me off from the entire Whitaker estate.

They stood by the porch, hands folded, eyes full of sorrow. The rest of the family stayed inside, not even bothering to peek through the curtains.

The old couple looked at me with tears in their eyes, full of regret.

Mr. Jenkins, the groundskeeper, wiped his nose with a red handkerchief. Mrs. Jenkins pressed a tin of cookies into my hand, whispering, “For your new place, dear.”

“Ma’am, we couldn’t help you, and we truly feel ashamed before you and the late Mr. Whitaker.”

Their voices cracked with emotion. I hugged them both, promising to stay in touch.

I comforted them instead. “Don’t feel bad for me. Leaving the Whitaker family, I can finally live my own life.”

I smiled, blinking back tears. The wind picked up, swirling fallen leaves around our feet. For once, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.

They sighed deeply and watched me go.

At the threshold, I paused—feeling the rough wood of the porch under my fingers, the autumn air biting my cheeks, and somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded. I closed my eyes, let the air fill my lungs, and stepped forward. I walked down the drive, suitcase in hand, and didn’t look back.