At Dinner, My Son Shouted: “Either You Give My Wife Your Room Or Start Packing!”

I said.

“If I tell him beforehand, he’ll try to manipulate me, to make me feel guilty, to convince me not to do it. I’ve made my decision and I’m not letting him change it.”

“You’re right,”

Sharon said.

“You’re stronger than you think, Eleanor.”

“I’m learning to be,”

I replied.

The Final Deception

The next few days were strange. I was still living in that house, walking the halls, cooking in the kitchen, but mentally I was already gone. I was at the beach, in my new house, in my new life.

Mark and Jessica noticed my distance, but they interpreted it as a passing anger. They thought that eventually I’d get over it, that I’d go back to being the same compliant mother I’d always been.

On Tuesday, Jessica tried a different strategy. She came into the kitchen while I was making lunch, a forced smile on her face.

“Eleanor,”

she said sweetly.

“I know things have been tense lately and I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

I looked at her without saying anything.

“Really,”

she continued.

“Mark and I have been so stressed about the apartment and I think we haven’t been fair to you.”

“Uh-huh,”

I said, continuing with what I was doing.

“What I mean is, we value everything you do for us and we want to make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me?”

I asked.

“Yes,”

she said, pulling out her phone.

“Look, I found this spa that has an all-day package. Massages, facial, everything. I thought we could go together this weekend. You and me, like friends.”

I looked her straight in the eye.

“Who’s going to pay for this spa, Jessica?”

She blinked, uncomfortable.

“Well, I thought maybe you could treat me, you know, as a gesture of…”

“No.”

I interrupted.

“I’m not treating you to a spa.”

Her smile vanished.

“It was just an idea,”

she said sharply.

“You don’t have to be rude.”

“I’m not being rude,”

I replied.

“I’m being clear. I’m not going to spend my money buying you things so you can pretend to appreciate me.”

She opened her mouth, offended.

“I’m not pretending anything!”

“Yes you are, Jessica. And we both know it.”

She left the kitchen muttering something I couldn’t hear. I didn’t care. On Wednesday night Mark tried his own approach. He knocked on my door around 10:00.

“Can I come in?”

he asked.

“Go ahead,”

I said. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. I was folding clothes, putting the last few things in my suitcase.

“Mom,”

he said in a tired voice.

“I don’t want us to be fighting.”

“We’re not fighting, Mark,”

I replied without looking at him.

“I’m just not willing to let you disrespect me anymore.”

“I never wanted to disrespect you.”

“But you did,”

I said, stopping and looking at him.

“You did it when you yelled at me at dinner. You did it when you took my room without asking if I was okay. You did it every time you assumed I was going to solve your problems.”

He ran his hands over his face.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do. I already said I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t said you’re sorry, Mark. You’ve said you’re sorry that I’m upset. It’s not the same.”

He fell silent.

“You know what the problem is?”

I continued.

“You think that by saying sorry, everything magically goes back to the way it was. But it doesn’t work like that. You can’t disrespect me and expect me to just forget it.”

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel bad,”

he said, and for the first time, he sounded genuine.

“But you did,”

I replied.

“And intentions don’t change the damage.”

He nodded slowly.

“What can I do to fix it?”

“Nothing, Mark. It’s too late to fix it.”

He looked at me confused.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve already made decisions about my life and I’m not changing them.”

“What decisions?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,”

I said and continued folding clothes. He sat there for a few more minutes waiting for me to say something else, but I didn’t. He finally got up and left the room, closing the door softly.

The Day of Freedom

I barely slept that night. Tomorrow was Thursday. Tomorrow I would sign the sale. Tomorrow everything would change.

I got up early. I dressed carefully: black pants, a white blouse, my pearl earrings. I wanted to look good, to feel good for this moment. I went down to the kitchen and made coffee.

Mark and Jessica were still asleep. I left a note on the table: “Went out to run some errands. Back this afternoon.” Sharon picked me up at 9:00 sharp.

She looked at me seriously.

“Ready?”

“More than ready,”

I replied. We went straight to the title company’s office. The buyer was already there, a young man in his late 30s with his wife. We greeted each other formally and sat around the closing agent’s table.

The agent read all the documents in that monotone voice that lawyers have. He explained the terms, the conditions, the dates. The buyer was going to pay $315,000.

The transaction would be completed today. I had until Sunday to completely vacate the property.

“Any questions?”

the agent asked.

“None,”

I replied. I signed every page, one after another. My name in cursive: Eleanor Vance, sealing the end of an era. When I finished, the closing agent handed me a check.

$315,000. I held it in my hands feeling the weight of freedom. Sharon squeezed my hand under the table. We left the title company’s office around noon. Sharon hugged me on the street.

“You did it! You really did it!”

“Yes,”

I replied, and was surprised to feel tears in my eyes. They weren’t tears of sadness; they were of relief.

“Want to get some lunch before you go back?”

Sharon asked.

“Yes. I want to celebrate.”

We went to a small restaurant we liked, one overlooking a park. We ordered white wine and pasta. We toasted to new beginnings.

“When are you going to tell them?”

Sharon asked.

“Tonight,”

I replied.

“When I get home.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. This is something I have to do alone.”

The Announcement

I returned to the house around 5:00 in the afternoon. Mark’s car was parked outside. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

I walked into the house and found Mark and Jessica in the living room watching television. They looked up when they saw me.

“Where were you?”

Mark asked.

“Taking care of business,”

I replied, setting my purse on the dining room table.

“What business?”

His expression had that annoyance I knew so well, but he didn’t say anything more. I went up to my room and sat on the bed for several minutes, mentally preparing myself for what was next. At 7:00, I came back down.

Mark was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich; Jessica was still in the living room, phone in hand.

“Mark, Jessica,”

I said from the kitchen doorway.

“I need to talk to you.”

Mark put the knife down on the counter.

“About what?”

“Come to the living room, please.”

They both followed me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and irritation. We sat down, them on the sofa, me in the armchair. I took a deep breath and spoke in a clear, firm voice.

“I sold the house.”

There was absolute silence. Mark stared at me as if he hadn’t understood the words. Jessica blinked several times.

“What did you say?”

Mark finally asked.

“I said I sold the house. I signed the papers this morning. The new owners take possession on Sunday.”

Mark shot to his feet.