PART 4
Lunch Was Patricia’s Victory Party
The final hearing arrived fourteen months after Grant filed.
By then, he and Celeste were openly together.
Patricia had already invited her to Easter.
Thanksgiving.
Her birthday.
Even a family wedding.
I stopped caring.
What I cared about was the final property order.
Rebecca reviewed it with me the night before court.
“Once the judge signs, the prior occupancy period has expired.”
I nodded.
“The sheriff already has the enforcement packet.”
“Yes.”
“If the decree is entered this morning, enforcement can proceed.”
I stared at her.
“Today?”
“If the sheriff’s office can coordinate it.”
“And the movers?”
“Court-approved.”
“Their belongings?”
“Catalogued.”
“Protected.”
“Photographed.”
“Nothing discarded.”
I nodded.
Rebecca looked at me carefully.
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
“No last-minute extension?”
“No.”
“Allison.”
“They have had months.”
“I know.”
“They were given notice.”
“Yes.”
“They ignored a judge.”
“Yes.”
“They think I’m bluffing.”
Rebecca smiled faintly.
“They won’t by tonight.”
The judge signed shortly before eleven.
Outside, Patricia gave her performance.
“At least the Monroe house is safe again.”
I almost admired the irony.
She believed Grant had somehow preserved the house because the divorce was over.
In reality, the final decree was the trigger that allowed possession to return fully to me.
Then came the insults.
“You should be grateful Grant tolerated you.”
“Some women simply can’t accept being replaced.”
Then the champagne invitation.
“Lunch is on me.”
“We finally have something worth celebrating!”
They left.
Rebecca and I drove toward Ansley Park.
We stopped two streets away.
A sheriff’s vehicle was already outside the house.
Two deputies were there.
So was a moving crew.
The locksmith waited near the porch.
Rebecca called the supervising deputy.
“Yes?”
She listened.
Then nodded.
“Proceed.”
We did not stand on the lawn watching.
That was not necessary.
The deputies entered using the authority set out in the possession order.
The movers carefully documented each item belonging to Patricia, Melanie, Eric, and Grant.
Suitcases.
Furniture.
Boxes.
Clothing.
Electronics.
Personal papers.
Patricia’s china.
Grant’s golf clubs.
Melanie’s exercise equipment.
Eric’s tools.
Nothing belonging to me was removed.
Nothing was destroyed.
Nothing was thrown loose onto the street.
Each item was packed.
Wrapped.
Photographed.
Then placed in designated rows on the lawn and driveway under protective coverings while a storage truck remained available.
Rebecca had even arranged temporary storage information.
They could move everything immediately if they chose.
This was not revenge.
It was enforcement.
But I would be lying if I said I felt nothing.
I watched from inside Rebecca’s car when the locksmith removed the old lock.
Seven years earlier, Patricia had replaced that same lock without asking me.
She had said the brass hardware looked cheap.
I remembered coming home and discovering my own key no longer worked.
When I confronted her, she laughed.
“Grant has the new one.”
I had stood on the porch of my own house waiting for my husband to let me inside.
That memory returned as the locksmith installed the new lock.
Rebecca looked at me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You look like you’re somewhere else.”
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“The last time the locks changed.”
She knew the story.
She nodded.
“This time you have the key.”
“Yes.”
At 2:36 p.m., the deputy confirmed the property had been secured.
The official notice was posted on the door.
Possession restored to Allison Reed.
Unauthorized entry prohibited.
Grant’s remaining personal property was inventoried.
A retrieval procedure was listed.
Everything was legal.
Everything was documented.
Everything was finished.
At approximately the same time, Patricia was apparently raising a champagne glass at a Buckhead steakhouse.
I learned the details later from Grant.
Patricia made a toast.
“To Grant.”
Everyone raised glasses.
“To new beginnings.”
Melanie added another.
“And no more Allison.”
They laughed.
Then Patricia said the sentence that would become a family joke for all the wrong reasons.
“Tonight, we celebrate at home.”
They did not know they no longer had access to that home.
