My Daughter Texted Me: “For Christmas, We’re Keeping It Very Small—Just Immediate Family.” I Replied, “No Problem. Have Fun.” What She Didn’t Know Was-I Had Just Moved Into My Brand New $22 Million Mansion. When One Of My Guests Posted Photos Online, My Phone Rang 59 Times. “Mom, Please Call Me Back…”

We set up in the main salon with its soaring ceilings and windows that looked out over the moonlit ocean. Candles flickered on every surface and a fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace. The conversation was intelligent.

The wine was exquisite. And for the first time in months I felt truly at home. Patricia, bless her diplomatic heart, suggested we take photos.

“Vivien, darling,” she said, “you look absolutely radiant. This house, this view, it’s like something from a dream. We must capture this moment.”

I didn’t think much of it when she posted a few photos on her social media.

Patricia had a wide network of international contacts, and she was proud of our friendship. The Photos. The photos were beautiful—me in a midnight blue silk dress that brought out my eyes, laughing with friends against the backdrop of the ocean view, crystal glasses catching the candle light.

I went to bed that night feeling content in a way I hadn’t in years. I slept peacefully in the massive four poster bed wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets that cost more than most people spent on furniture. I woke up to 59 missed calls from Melanie.

My phone had been on silent, and each missed call notification felt like a small slap. I scrolled through them, watching the timestamps. They had started coming in around midnight and hadn’t stopped until dawn.

There were text messages, too. Mom, call me immediately. Where are you?

Why didn’t you tell us about the house? We need to talk right now. Mom, please, I can explain about Christmas.

Continue reading…