Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The shelter cafeteria was crowded as Mona pushed her spoon through watery oatmeal. Three days had taught her to eat whatever was offered, even when her stomach rebelled against the bland food.

"You need to eat," Rose said. "You're getting too thin."

Mona nodded and forced herself to take another bite. Survival meant doing things you didn't want to do. That was the first lesson of homelessness.

"I might have found you a job," Rose continued. "Guy I know runs a laundromat. Cash only, no questions asked. It's not much, but..."

She stopped as the shelter doors swung open. A blast of cold air swept through the room, followed by the unmistakable click of expensive high heels on the worn linoleum floor.

Mona froze. That sound. She knew that sound.

"Ladies, we have some special visitors today," the shelter director announced, her voice overly bright. "Please welcome Mrs. Emily Caldwell, her son Samuel Caldwell, and his fiancée Lora Bennett from the Caldwell Foundation!"

The cafeteria fell silent. All eyes turned toward the entrance where Emily Caldwell stood in an immaculate cream pantsuit, diamonds glittering at her ears and throat. Beside her, Samuel looked uncomfortable but determined. Lora Bennett stood on his other side, resplendent in a fitted red dress. Behind them, several people with cameras and notepads filed in, reporters.

"Rose," Mona whispered, panic rising. "I need to go..."

But it was too late. Emily's sharp eyes had already scanned the room and locked onto Mona. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips. She whispered something to Lora, who turned to look directly at Mona, her expression lighting up with malicious delight.

"Good morning, everyone," Emily said, her voice carrying effortlessly. "The Caldwell Foundation is proud to announce a significant donation to this shelter. We believe in supporting those less fortunate, especially women who find themselves in difficult circumstances through no fault of their own."

Her emphasis on the last words was subtle but clear. Her gaze never left Mona's face.

"Samuel," she continued. "Would you like to say a few words?"

Samuel stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral. "We're pleased to present a check for fifty thousand dollars to the Downtown Women's Shelter. This donation will help provide essential services to women in crisis."

The shelter director beamed, accepting a giant presentation check. "This generous gift will make such a difference in the lives of our residents. We can finally repair the roof and update our kitchen facilities."

Cameras flashed as they posed with the check. The other women applauded. They had no idea they were applauding Mona's tormentors.

"Now," Emily said, "I understand you'll be giving us a tour of the facilities? We'd like to see exactly where our money will be going."

"Of course," the director said eagerly. "We'll start right here in our dining area."

Emily made a show of looking around, her gaze coming to rest on Mona.

"Well," she said, her voice dripping with fake surprise. "What an unexpected coincidence. If it isn't Mona."

The entire room fell silent. Every head turned toward Mona, who sat frozen in her seat.

"You know one of our residents?" the director asked, confused.

Emily smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "Oh yes. Mona was briefly married to my son before we discovered she had been stealing from our family."

Gasps and whispers erupted. Women drew back from Mona's table as if theft were contagious.

Lora stepped forward, taking Samuel's arm possessively. "It's actually quite shocking to see her here. I hadn't realized things had gotten this bad."

"Mother," Samuel murmured, "perhaps this isn't the place..."

"Nonsense, Samuel," Emily cut him off. "These women deserve to know who they're sharing their space with. Ladies, be careful with your belongings. Mona has a habit of taking things that don't belong to her."

Mona finally found her voice, though it emerged as barely more than a whisper. "That's not true."

Emily raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "No? Then why did we find family heirlooms hidden in your dresser? Why were there unexplained withdrawals from our accounts?"

"You know I didn't take anything," Mona said, trembling. "You planted those things. You set me up."

A reporter stepped forward eagerly. "Mrs. Caldwell, are you saying your former daughter-in-law stole from you and is now homeless?"

Emily turned to the cameras with practiced concern. "It's a sad situation. We tried to help her for years, but Mona has... issues. Mental health problems that made her increasingly paranoid and unstable."

"That's a lie!" Mona stood, her legs shaking. "You're the ones who—"

"You see?" Emily said calmly. "These delusions of persecution. It's exactly what we dealt with at home."

The women around Mona edged away further, looking at her with suspicion. Even Rose seemed uncertain now, her eyes darting between Mona and the Caldwells.

"I'm not delusional," Mona insisted, tears threatening to spill. "They're lying. They took everything from me!"

Samuel spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "Mona, we've been through this. Your inheritance was gone long before we met. You spent it all. The doctors explained that these false memories are part of your condition."

Mona stared at him in disbelief. "What doctors? There were never any doctors!"

"Dr. Peterson, Dr. Cohen," Samuel said, naming people who didn't exist with easy confidence. "They treated you for years. You don't remember because you refuse to acknowledge your illness."

Lora stepped closer, her expensive perfume a sharp contrast to the institutional smell of the shelter. "It must be so hard," she said with exaggerated sympathy, making sure the cameras caught her compassionate expression. "Living with these delusions. Believing everyone is against you."

"Stop it," Mona whispered, looking around desperately for anyone who might believe her. But all she saw were faces filled with pity or distrust.

Emily moved closer. "We've actually filed charges," she announced. "The police are looking for her. We didn't realize she was here."

"Police?" the shelter director asked, alarmed. "We don't allow criminals in our facility."

"I'm not a criminal!" Mona cried, panic rising. "Please, don't do this!"

Emily ignored her, addressing the shelter director. "The stolen items are worth over fifty thousand dollars. That's grand theft, a felony in this state."

The reporters scribbled frantically, cameras flashing. Tomorrow, Mona's face would be plastered across the news as a thief, a mentally ill woman, a criminal hiding in a homeless shelter.

"I think perhaps you should leave," the director said to Mona, her formerly kind face now hard with disapproval. "We have rules about criminal activity."

"But I have nowhere else to go," Mona pleaded. "Please, they're lying! They're doing this on purpose to destroy me!"

"There's the paranoia again," Emily said sadly to the reporters. "It's heartbreaking to watch."

Lora reached into her purse and pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill, holding it out toward Mona with a pitying smile. "Here. This might help you find somewhere to stay tonight."

The gesture was calculated humiliation. Cameras flashed rapidly, capturing the moment: Lora Bennett, beautiful and compassionate, offering charity to the delusional thief.

Mona stared at the money, unable to move. To accept it would be to accept their narrative. To reject it would make her look ungrateful.

"Go on," Lora insisted, her eyes gleaming with cruel enjoyment. "Take it. Unless you'd rather sleep on the streets tonight?"

With trembling fingers, Mona reached for the bill. The moment her fingers touched it, Lora pulled it back slightly.

"Oh wait," she said loudly. "How do I know you won't use this to buy drugs? That's how you spent your inheritance, isn't it? Samuel told me all about your... habits."

Fresh gasps rippled through the room. Now she was not just a thief but an addict too?

"I've never used drugs in my life," Mona said, her voice breaking. "You know that's not true."

"Denial is part of addiction," Samuel said gravely. "Another thing the doctors explained to us."

"Maybe this is better," Lora said, tucking the bill back into her purse. She pulled out a business card instead. "This is the number for a rehab facility. When you're ready to get help, call them."

More camera flashes. The perfect charitable gesture.

"I think that's enough excitement for one morning," Emily said, placing a hand on Samuel's arm. "We should continue our tour."

But before they moved on, Emily stepped close to Mona, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This is just the beginning. By tonight, you'll have no reputation, no shelter, no future. No one will help you now. No one will believe you."

Lora leaned in from the other side. "Your three-carat ring? Samuel took it back the day after he proposed to me. He said it was never his grandmother's, just something he bought to shut you up. My ring is eight carats. Worth more than your entire existence."

Samuel didn't speak, but his eyes met Mona's briefly. There was nothing there, no guilt, no remorse, not even hatred. Just emptiness, as if she were nothing at all.

They moved away, the shelter director guiding them toward the sleeping area, eager to show them how their generous donation would be used.

"You have one hour to leave," the director called back. "After that, I'll be forced to call the police."

The women in the cafeteria stared at Mona with undisguised hostility. Someone whispered "thief," loud enough for her to hear. Another woman gathered her belongings closer, as if Mona might snatch them.

"Rose," Mona pleaded, turning to the one person who had shown her kindness. "You know they're lying. You know I wouldn't..."

But Rose wouldn't meet her eyes. "I can't get involved," she said quietly. "I need this place. I can't risk it."

Mona's few possessions fit in a small plastic bag. The donated clothes, a toothbrush, a comb. Nothing that was truly hers. She gathered them with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

As she walked toward the exit, a woman spat at her feet. Another pulled her coat closer, as if Mona's presence might contaminate her. The door closed behind her with a final-sounding click.

Outside, the morning sun was too bright, mocking her darkness. Mona stood on the shelter steps, clutching her pathetic bag of possessions, with no idea where to go.

She was alone. Branded as a thief, a liar, an addict, mentally ill. No shelter would take her now. No employer would hire her. Even Rose had turned away.

Mona began to walk, her feet moving automatically while her mind reeled. The Caldwells had cut off every escape route, blocked every path forward. They had taken her past, her present, and now her future.

By afternoon, she found herself at the river, staring at the dark water flowing beneath the bridge. How easy it would be to climb over the railing. One push, one moment of surrender, and it would all be over. They would win, but Mona wouldn't be there to care anymore.

She stood there for a long time, watching the water, feeling what remained of her spirit drain away. The Mona who had once believed in love, in fairness, in second chances, that woman was gone, destroyed piece by piece until nothing remained.

What was left was just a shell, an empty vessel moving through the motions of survival without purpose or hope.

As darkness fell, Mona sat huddled beneath the bridge, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing. She didn't cry. There were no tears left. Instead, a strange numbness spread through her, a blessed absence of feeling.