Chapter 6 - What My Son Finally Said
My attorney, Andrea Wells, read everything without interrupting.
That alone nearly made me cry again.
For days, people had been telling me what I meant, what I promised, and how I should feel.
Andrea simply asked questions.
Had I signed anything transferring property?
No.
Had I agreed to renovations?
No.
Did I recognize the email?
No.
Did anyone else have access to my computer?
Yes.
She made careful notes.
“We’ll separate the issues,” she said. “The property, the money, and the communications.”
I appreciated the ordinary shape she gave the mess.
She did not promise a dramatic victory.
She asked me to preserve the original messages, write down the timeline, and stop debating matters by telephone.
Then she helped me prepare a clear written notice.
No one had permission to arrange work at my property.
No one had permission to represent that I had agreed to give away my home.
Future requests concerning money would be made in writing.
We would address repayment of the eighteen thousand dollars separately.
I read the letter twice.
It felt strange to see my wishes expressed without an apology attached.
Before I left, Andrea looked up.
“Do you want a relationship with your son?”
“Yes.”
“Then boundaries need to leave room for truth. They don’t need to leave room for continued deception.”
I carried that sentence home.
At three, David called.
I let it go to voicemail.
His message was short.
“I need to tell you something before Pamela does.”
An hour later, he arrived carrying his laptop.
I asked him to leave it closed until he explained.
He stood by the kitchen counter.
“I wrote that email.”
I stared at him.
“From my account?”
His eyes dropped.
“You were still signed in on the laptop you left at our place.”
“Why?”
“Pamela wanted something showing you supported the idea. She said you’d agree eventually.”
“So you wrote my agreement for me.”
“Yes.”
My hands became cold.
“Did you think about how I would feel when I saw it?”
“I didn’t think you ever would.”
That was the worst answer he could have given.
It was also probably the truest.
I asked him to sit.
He shook his head.
“I don’t deserve to.”
“Sit anyway. We are having a conversation, not a sentencing.”
He lowered himself into a chair.
Then he opened a document he had written that afternoon.
It stated that I had not sent the message, had not approved a garage conversion, and had not offered them my house.
It also acknowledged the false roof request.
“I sent a copy to Andrea,” he said. “And Pamela.”
“What happened?”
“She said if I chose you, I could stay with you.”
I folded my hands.
“You cannot stay here.”
His expression flickered.
“I know.”
I hadn’t expected that.
“I booked a room for three nights,” he continued. “After that, I’ll figure something out.”
“And Sophie?”
“She’s at school. We haven’t told her anything. We need to.”
He stared at the floor.
“I thought keeping Pamela happy meant protecting my family.”
“Your family included me.”
“I know.”
“No,” I said gently. “You know now.”
He nodded.
We talked for almost an hour.
I did not forgive him.
I did not promise that everything would return to normal.
But for the first time, he answered questions without asking me to make the answers less painful.
Before leaving, he placed a cashier’s check on the table.
Two thousand dollars.
“I sold my watch.”
I looked at his bare wrist.
The watch had been an anniversary gift from Pamela.
“This is a beginning,” I said.
“I know.”
That evening, Pamela sent one more message.
Mom and I are coming Saturday. We need witnesses so nobody can twist this.
I forwarded it to Andrea.
Then I replied.
Saturday at two. Marlene will be here. We will discuss the records, and nobody will speak for me.
Pamela responded with a thumbs-up.
May you like
I looked at the blue folder resting beside Henry’s photograph.
For the first time all week, I was not afraid of opening it.
