As the officers stepped forward and closed heavy steel handcuffs around Chloe’s wrists, she lost every last shred of the composure and elegance she had worn like a costume for as long as I had known her.

She began to thrash and scream, and she pointed a manicured finger at Marisol.

“This is all because of her!” she shrieked, as the officers led her toward the doors.

“That trash housekeeper manipulated you!

She wants my place!

She’s been planning this for years!”

I stepped in front of my daughters, placing my body between them and the sight of the woman being dragged out in chains, the way Marisol had placed her body between them and Chloe so many times when I was not there to do it.

“Marisol didn’t manipulate anything, Chloe,” I said, my voice carrying across the room as the doors opened.