At Dinner, My Son Shouted: “Either You Give My Wife Your Room Or Start Packing!”
“What? You can’t do that!”
“I already did,”
I replied calmly.
“This is my house!”
he yelled.
“I grew up here! You can’t just sell it without consulting me!”
“This house is in my name, Mark. I don’t need to consult you about anything.”
Jessica stood up too.
“Wait, wait! And where are we supposed to live?”
“That’s your problem, not mine,”
I replied.
“Our problem?”
Mark repeated, incredulous.
“Mom, you just made us homeless!”
“You haven’t had a home here for a week, ever since I told you that you couldn’t stay. The problem is you didn’t believe me.”
“This can’t be happening,”
Jessica said, pacing back and forth.
“This has to be a joke.”
“It’s not a joke. You have until Sunday to get your things out.”
“No!”
Mark shouted.
“I’m not accepting this! I’m going to talk to a lawyer! I’m going to contest the sale!”
“You can try,”
I replied.
“But the house was in my name. There are no debts, no mortgage, and the sale is completely legal. I already consulted with my lawyer.”
“Your lawyer?”
Mark asked.
“Since when do you have a lawyer?”
“Since I decided it was time to protect what’s mine.”
Jessica pointed a finger at me.
“You are a selfish, a selfish, cruel old woman!”
I looked at her without blinking.
“Tell me, Jessica, am I selfish because I sold my house, or am I selfish because I wouldn’t let you keep using me?”
“Using you?”
Mark yelled.
“We’re your family!”
“And I am your mother, not your solution to all your problems.”
Standing Firm
Mark ran his hands through his hair, clearly desperate.
“Mom, please, there has to be a way to fix this. Cancel the sale. Tell them you changed your mind.”
“I’m not canceling anything.”
“But we have nowhere to go!”
“Then you’d better start looking,”
I said, getting up from the armchair.
“You have three days.”
Mark blocked my path.
“I’m not letting you do this!”
“Move, Mark,”
I said in a low, firm voice.
“Not until you explain what the hell is wrong with you! Who are you? This person isn’t my mother!”
“You’re right,”
I replied.
“This isn’t the mother you knew. That mother got tired of being invisible. This mother decided to live for herself.”
I gently pushed him aside and went up the stairs. I heard Jessica screaming downstairs.
“This isn’t over! We’re going to sue you!”
“Go ahead!”
I shouted from the top of the stairs.
“Talk to all the lawyers you want!”
I went into my room and locked the door. I sat on the bed and waited for my heart to stop pounding so hard. I had done it.
I had told them the truth and the sky hadn’t fallen. My phone rang. It was Sharon.
“Did you tell them?”
“Yes,”
I replied.
“How did they react?”
“As expected. Screaming, threats, drama.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m perfect.”
I said, and was surprised to realize it was true. I didn’t sleep that night. I heard Mark and Jessica arguing late into the night.
Their voices rose and fell, alternating between rage and panic. At one point, I heard Jessica crying. Mark called someone on the phone, probably a lawyer.
But from what I could overhear, they told him the same thing he already knew: the sale was legal. Friday morning I went down to the kitchen early.
Mark was already there, sitting at the table with a cold cup of coffee in front of him. He had deep dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a mess.
“Mom,”
he said when he saw me.
“we need to talk.”
“We talked yesterday,”
I replied, pouring myself coffee.
“No, really talk. Without yelling. Please.”
I sat down across from him.
“Talk.”
“I know I messed up,”
he said, staring at his mug.
“I know I said horrible things. I know I treated you badly.”
“Yes, you did.”
“And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
I looked him in the eyes, searching for sincerity. I found desperation.
“Mark,”
I said softly.
“the problem isn’t just what you said at dinner. The problem is that dinner was just the final straw. It’s been years of you treating me like I exist only to solve your problems.”
“It’s not like that,”
he protested weakly.
“Yes it is,”
I insisted.
“When was the last time you asked me how I was? When was the last time you visited me just because you wanted to see me, not because you needed something?”
He fell silent.
“Exactly,”
I said.
“You don’t remember because it’s never happened.”
“I’ll change,”
he said.
“I promise you, I’ll be a better son.”
“I don’t need you to be a better son, Mark. It’s too late for that. What I need is to live my life without feeling like I owe someone something all the time.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
he asked, and for the first time I saw real fear in his eyes.
“What all adults do,”
I replied.
“You’ll figure it out.”
Jessica came down at that moment, also with dark circles, also disheveled. She looked at us both and then poured herself coffee without a word.
A Legacy of Respect
The atmosphere in the house that Friday was tense and silent. Mark and Jessica spent most of the day in their room on the phone, looking for apartments, talking to potential landlords.
Moving their small life from one place to another. I continued packing my things calmly. Every object I packed was one step closer to my freedom.
In the mid-afternoon my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Miss Vance?”
a young woman’s voice said.
“Yes, this is she.”
“It’s Emily.”
My granddaughter, the only person in this whole family who had treated me with genuine affection.
“Hi sweetie,”
I said, my voice softening.
“Grandma,”
she said, and she sounded worried.
“My dad called me. He told me you sold the house.”
“Yes, Emily, I sold it.”
“Is it true?”
“Completely true.”
There was a pause, then she said.
“Good.”
“Good?”
I asked, surprised.
“Yes, good. I heard what my dad said to you at dinner last week. I was there, remember? I was so embarrassed, I was so angry, but I didn’t know what to say.”
I felt a lump in my throat.
“What you did is right, Grandma,”
Emily continued.
“You deserve to live your life. You deserve respect. And if my dad won’t give it to you, then you deserve to get away.”
“Thank you, sweetie,”
I said, my voice breaking.
“Where are you going to go?”
she asked.
“I bought a house on the beach,”
I replied.
