Burying My Past With My Car

I stood there, a cold smile playing on my lips, watching this father and son put on a spectacular display of grief for our late, beloved nanny.

They didn't know yet. They had no idea that the nanny, who had supposedly died in a tragic accident, was very much alive.

She had faked her death for one simple reason: she was pregnant with my father-in-laws child.

And yet, right in front of me, my husband was preparing to bury my custom, limited-edition Mercedes-Maybach in the dirt. He wanted to use it as a grave offering for her.

When I demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing with my car, he turned to me, his eyes bloodshot, and screamed that Mia had only ever been able to sneak drives in it while she was alive. Now that she was dead, he was going to let her drive it for eternity. If I stopped him, he said, he would divorce me.

But the thing that truly froze the blood in my veins was my ten-year-old son. He charged at me, kicking me hard in the shin, screaming at me to stop fighting a dead woman over a stupid car. He called me cruel. He said if I kept being so evil, he wouldnt be my son anymore.

Seeing their true faces in the harsh light of day cleared my head entirely. I had the divorce papers drawn up that very night.

"Excuse me? Care to repeat that?"

I honestly thought the wind had distorted his words.

"I said, Im burying the Maybach. It was Mias favorite. Shes taking it with her."

Theo stood at the edge of a massive, gaping trench in the wasteland just outside the Chicago city limits. His knuckles were white around the handle of a shovel, his eyes rimmed with a manic, bloodshot grief.

Behind him, the diesel engine of an excavator idled loudly. My custom Maybachone of only a handful ever manufactured in that specific pearl finishwas already suspended in the air by heavy industrial straps.

"Theo, that is my vehicle. What gives you the right?"

"What gives me the right?"

He whipped around. The sorrow in his eyes instantly boiled over into absolute fury.

"Victoria! Its a piece of metal! Are you really going to put a material object above Mias eternal peace?"

"When she was alive, she could only sneak behind the wheel to feel the leather when you were out of town on business! She adored this car, but she was terrified to even leave a fingerprint on it!"

"She raised our son for five years! Now shes gone! And you cant even part with a single damn car for her?"

"Did you think of her as just a dog?"

I stared at the man I had married, and a laugh escaped my throat.

"A dog?"

"Theo, have you completely lost your mind?"

"She was an employee. I paid her a premium salary, on time, with full benefits, every single month. Raising my son was her job description, not an act of martyrdom."

"That car is worth half a million dollars. Its a global limited edition! Why on earth would I bury it for a nanny?"

I had hit a nerve. Theo flinched, then doubled down.

"Half a million? So what? How much do you pull in every quarter, Victoria? Its just a car! Mia poured her heart and soul into this family, doesn't she deserve at least that?"

"Is money the only thing you're capable of seeing?"

I took a slow step toward him. My eyes trailed over the Patek Philippe on his wrist, the bespoke Italian wool of his suit, and finally rested on his self-righteous, indignant face.

"Before you say another word, I suggest you take a long look in the mirror. From the shoes on your feet to the watch on your wristwhich piece of it didn't come from my bank account?"

"You play the role of the ascetic, starving-artist literature professor at the university so well that youve actually started to believe it yourself. That Bentley you drive to campus every day to impress your undergrads? I bought that, too."

Theo looked as if Id backhanded him. The color drained from his face, leaving him a sickly, ashen gray.

Even the roar of the excavator cut out. The operator poked his head out of the cab, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Keep digging!" Theo roared over his shoulder, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. "This car goes in the ground today! I gave the order!"

He turned back to me, chest heaving. "If you don't agree, we're getting a divorce!"

I didn't even get a chance to open my mouth.

A heavy, breathless figure launched itself out of the SUV parked nearby.

It was my son, Oliver.

Ten years old.

And fed to nearly a hundred and sixty pounds by the "loving" hands of Mia.

He barreled up to me, lifted his heavy leg, and kicked me viciously right below the knee.

"You're a bitch! Why couldn't it be you who died!"

"She bought me fried chicken and milkshakes! She played video games with me! All you do is starve me! You call me fat! You make me do diets! You don't even love me!"

"Shes dead! And you're fighting her for a car! Cant you just be a good person for once? If you keep being mean, Dad and I are leaving you!"

He wailed as he screamed at me, snot and tears mixing on his flushed cheeks.

He looked exactly like a boy who had just lost his mother.

No. He looked more heartbroken than if he had lost me.

I looked at the two of them. My husband. My son.

Over a nanny.

One was red-eyed, ready to bury my prized possession in the mud. The other was ready to disown me over junk food and screen time.

Suddenly, the absurdity of it all washed over me, and I smiled. A genuine, terrifyingly calm smile.

"Alright then. Let's get a divorce."

Theo froze.

He clearly hadn't expected me to agree, let alone with such chilling ease.

"What... what did you just say?"

"Divorce," I repeated, my tone as conversational as if I were ordering a coffee. "Isn't that what you wanted? I agree."

His lips trembled. For a second, the great professor was entirely out of words.

Looking at him standing there in the dirt, I just felt a profound sense of secondhand embarrassment.

Did he really think he could use divorce as a bargaining chip against me?

Fine. Let him play his hand.

I looked at his dumbfounded expression and the corner of my mouth ticked up. "I do have one condition, though."

"What condition?"

"You leave with nothing." I held his gaze, unblinking. "You sign a post-nuptial agreement voluntarily forfeiting all marital assets. The penthouse you live in, the cars you drive, the joint accountsall of it."

"Do that, and you can do whatever you want with this car."

Theos face flushed a violent, ugly purple.

"Victoria, are you insane? I am your husband! Oliver is your son! Youre going to throw us out on the street with nothing?"

"You were the one who asked for the divorce," I said, a cold laugh escaping me. "Im giving you exactly what you asked for. Are you complaining about the terms now?"

"You"

I looked at his sputtering, panicked face, and let my disappointment show.

"Theo, I always thought you were above it all. I didn't realize you were this greedy."

"You want to bury my car, divorce me, and still take my money?"

"Is your profound spiritual connection with Mia really that cheap? It cant even hold a candle to some real estate and cash? Where is your pride, Professor?"

Truthfully.

Dealing with hypocrites who wrap themselves in intellectual superiority is childs play.

It only took a few well-placed strikes to his fragile ego to make him throw everything away just to save face.

Right on cue, Theo began to shake with righteous indignation.

"Fine! I'll leave with nothing! Do you think I care about your filthy money? Keep your penthouse, keep your cars! I don't want a dime from you. All I want is Oliver!"

"Victoria, look deep inside yourself. Do you even deserve to be a mother? Aside from throwing money at him, what have you ever given Oliver? In your cold heart, your quarterly earnings reports will always matter more than your own flesh and blood!"

His voice took on a vindictive, almost euphoric edge.

"Mia might have been a nanny on paper, but she had a Master's degree! She understood literature! She talked to Oliver about Rimbaud and Keats, about the meaning of life. She had depth. She had a soul!"

"And you? Your brain is nothing but contracts, profit margins, and cold calculation. You reek of corporate greed!"

"How could you ever compete with Mia?"

"Since were getting divorced anyway, I don't care if you know the truth"

"In my heart, me, Mia, and Oliver... the three of us were the real family!"

A family?

Technically, he wasn't wrong.

If Mia had lived to give birth to my father-in-laws baby, she literally would have been Theos stepmother.

What a beautifully twisted little family tree.

Thinking about that, I actually had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

Mia had worked in our home for five years.

Three days ago, she abruptly packed a bag, claiming there was a family emergency back in her hometown down south.

That same evening, I received a hysterical phone call from her sister.

She told me Mia had slipped and fallen at home, and hadn't survived.

The next morning, Theo and I flew down to pay our respects.

But her family was incredibly evasive. They claimed it was a strict local tradition to scatter the ashes at sea immediately upon death.

They refused to hold a service. They practically shoved us out the door and told us to fly back to Chicago.

The whole thing reeked.

My intuition flared.

I put my lead investigator on it immediately.

I didn't expect much. But what he uncovered?

It was an absolute masterpiece.

Mia wasn't dead.

She was pregnant.

My investigator sent me a clipped file of security footage from inside my own home.

The timestamp was from a month ago, during the three weeks I had taken Oliver to a specialized health and fitness camp in Switzerland.

I had given Mia paid time off.

But the footage showed her and Theo in my living room.

They had opened a five-thousand-dollar bottle of my Bordeaux. They were drinking, quoting 19th-century poetry at each other, the tension thick and heavy.

Eventually, they both got blackout drunk.

Theo stumbled off toward the master bedroom first, swaying dangerously.

Mia, her eyes glazed and a lovesick smile on her face, stared after him.

"Oh, Theo... I love you so much... I've been waiting to give myself to you..."

She dragged herself up from the carpet. She meant to follow him into the master suite, but the wine had completely wrecked her equilibrium. She took a wrong turn down the hall and stumbled right into the guest bedroom.

The guest bedroom where my father-in-law, Richard, happened to be staying for the weekend while he was in the city running errands.

The next morning, the hallway camera caught it in high definition.

My father-in-law carried a disheveled, half-dressed Mia out of the guest room and dumped her onto the living room sofa.

He didn't even leave a note. He packed his bag and took the first train back out of the city.

My investigator attached several medical documents to the video file, his accompanying message brief and professional:

"Shortly after this, Ms. Mia discovered she was pregnant."

"Based on the HCG levels in her clinic reports, the conception date aligns perfectly with the night of the security footage. The father... is unequivocally Mr. Richard Wright."

"However, it appears Ms. Mia genuinely believes the child belongs to your husband, Theo."

"My working theory is that she panicked, assuming you would find out and force her into an abortion. She staged her death to go off the grid, intending to have the baby in secret, and likely planned to return later to force Theo's hand using the child as leverage."

I had sat in the dark of my office last night, staring at those files in absolute silence.

Today, my original plan had been to hand this folder to Theo and let him see the truth.

But now?

Now, I had a much better idea.

The courthouse.

The heavy thud of the judge's stamp.

Two copies of a divorce decree, the ink still fresh.

Theos mouth worked silently, as if the reality of it was finally snagging in his throat.

"Let's go," I said, sliding my copy into my Birkin bag and turning on my heel. "I'm taking you somewhere."

"Victoria, it's too late for regrets now," he said, trying to maintain his icy facade.

I opened the door to my chauffeured car and looked back at him, an amused glint in my eye.

"It's about Mia. Are you coming or not?"

The color drained from Theo's face.

He hesitated for two agonizing seconds before grabbing Oliver's hand and climbing in.

The car glided into a run-down, working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, pulling up to a bleak apartment complex.

Theo frowned at the peeling paint. "Why the hell did you bring me to a place like this?"

I didn't answer. I just walked up the concrete stairs to the third floor and knocked on a battered metal door.

The moment the door opened.

Theo froze, looking as though a bolt of lightning had struck him squarely in the chest.

Because the person holding the door open was Mia.

"Mia... you... you're alive?"

Oliver let out a shriek of pure joy and threw his heavy body forward. "Mia!"

But Mia instinctively flinched and stepped out of his way.

She stared at me, all the blood leaving her face. She immediately scrambled past the boy and buried herself in the arms of a still-paralyzed Theo, trembling violently.

"Ms. Croft, please! Please let me go! Have mercy on the baby in my belly! I won't ask for a single penny, I swear!"

"What?!"

Theo snapped out of his shock, staring down at the woman cowering against his chest.

"Mia, you're pregnant?"

"Whose is it?"

Tears spilled from Mia's eyes instantly. She played the tragic heroine to perfection.

"Theo, my love... that night... we were both so drunk..."

A flicker of confusion crossed Theo's face.

"But... I was so blackout drunk that night, I didn't even think I..."

"You are the only man I have ever been with!" Mia cried, cutting him off with a sob. "Theo, do you really not believe me?"

Whatever fragile thread of logic Theo was holding onto snapped under the weight of her devoted tears.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her as if she were made of spun glass. His eyes were fierce with protective rage.

"I believe you! Of course I believe you!"

"Mia, you are my soulmate. How could I ever doubt you?"

A microscopic flash of triumph crossed Mia's face before she turned back to me, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Ms. Croft, I only faked my death because I was terrified you would use your power to force me to get rid of Theos baby!"

"But Theo and I truly love each other. I don't care about the money or the status..."

I was already sick of the community theater performance. I cut her off.

"Relax. Theo and I finalized our divorce an hour ago."

I paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to ensure the next words hit with maximum impact.

"He gave up all his assets. He has nothing but the clothes on his back and custody of Oliver. Since you love him so much, he's all yours."

The face of the ethereal, poetry-loving muse cracked right down the middle.

She yanked her head up from Theo's chest. The tears were still on her cheeks, but her voice hit a shrill, panicked pitch.

"What? He gave up all his assets?"

"Why would you do that?! How am I supposed to feed my baby? Dirt?"

Theo hurriedly tried to smooth things over. "Mia, sweetheart, don't panic. I'm a tenured professor. I have a stable salary. I would never let you or our child starve."

Mia shoved him away, a look of pure disgust twisting her features.

"Provide? With your miserable professor's salary? Do you know what diapers cost?"

"Mia, have you forgotten?" Theo pleaded, desperate to prove his worth. "I don't just teach! I have my avant-garde ceramics gallery!"

"My sculptures sell for tens of thousands of dollars each! Its more than enough to give you a beautiful life!"

He looked deeply into her eyes, making a solemn vow.

"Just focus on a healthy pregnancy. When the baby turns one month old, I'm going to host a massive gallery exhibition! Every single dollar I make that night will be my gift to you and our child!"

I actually had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing in his face.

The only reason anyone ever stepped foot into that pretentious little gallery was to kiss the ring of Victoria Croft.

Those so-called "art pieces" were just polite bribes from businessmen trying to get a meeting with me.

Did he honestly think his lumpy clay pots had actual market value?

God, he was stupid.

I turned and walked away. As I descended the dark, smelling stairwell, I pulled out my phone and called my PR director.

"Put an absolute embargo on the news of my divorce."

"Keep it out of the press until the opening night of his little art exhibition."

"I want them to feel exactly what it's like to fall out of the sky and hit the concrete."