The locksmith arrived less than an hour later.
His name was Frank.
He was an older gentleman with gray hair, a tool belt, and the kind of quiet manner I appreciated.
He had worked on our property several times over the years.
The first time was after a storm damaged the back door.
Nile had joked that we needed to stop buying cheap locks.
Frank remembered him.
"How's your husband doing?" he asked as he stepped out of his truck.
I looked at him.
For a second, I couldn't find the words.
"He passed away fourteen years ago."
Frank's expression changed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's all right."
He glanced toward the house.
"Is something wrong with the locks?"
I looked at the front door.
"Someone has been coming in without asking me."
He didn't ask who.
He simply nodded.
"All right. Let's take a look."
I showed him the front entrance.
Then the back door.
Then the side entrance near the kitchen.
I asked him to replace every exterior lock.
Frank inspected each one carefully.
"Do you want new keys for all of them?"
"Yes. And I want the old keys to be useless."
He looked at me for a moment.
Then he nodded again.
"Understood."
While he worked, I carried the four suitcases outside.
They were heavier than they looked.
The first one had a leather handle and expensive brass-colored fittings.
The second was covered in a designer pattern.
The other two were large enough for someone to travel for months.
I wondered how much they had cost.
Then I wondered why I was even thinking about that.
They weren't my belongings.
I placed them near the porch.
Next came the moving boxes.
Six in total.
Some were labeled with Blythe's name.
Others simply said BEDROOM, KITCHEN, and DECOR.
I stopped when I reached one of the smaller boxes.
It was open.
Inside were several framed photographs.
One showed Cullen and Blythe standing beside a luxury car.
Another showed them at a restaurant.
There was also a wedding invitation sample with gold lettering.
I looked at it for a moment.
They had apparently spent considerable time planning a wedding.
A wedding I knew nothing about.
I closed the box.
Then I carried it outside.
Frank finished replacing the front lock shortly afterward.
He tested it twice.
Then he handed me the new keys.
"These are yours. The old ones won't work anymore."
I held them in my palm.
They were ordinary metal keys.
Nothing special.
Yet I felt something I hadn't felt since that phone call.
Control.
Not revenge.
Not happiness.
Just the knowledge that I still had a say in what happened to my own home.
Frank gave me the receipt.
I thanked him.
Then I asked him one more question.
"If somebody comes here and says they're supposed to live in this house, what should I do?"
He looked toward the boxes.
"That's something you'll have to decide. But nobody should be entering your property without your permission."
I appreciated that he didn't offer a lecture.
After he left, I stood on the porch.
The ocean was visible beyond the houses across the street.
A light breeze moved the palm leaves.
I looked at the suitcases.
Then at the front door.
The blue paint was slightly faded near the handle.
Nile had always wanted to repaint it.
We never got around to it.
I took out my phone.
I photographed the suitcases and boxes arranged on the lawn.
Then I opened Cullen's contact.
I typed a message.
"Congratulations again on your marriage. I've secured the beach house and changed the exterior locks. Your belongings are safe outside. Please contact me before arranging to enter the property."
I read it twice.
It sounded polite.
Almost too polite.
But I sent it anyway.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then my phone rang.
Cullen.
I answered.
"Hello, sweetheart."
"What did you do?"
His voice was so loud I moved the phone away from my ear.
"I changed the locks."
"What?"
"The locks at the beach house."
"Why?"
I looked at the front door.
"Because I didn't agree to anyone moving in."
There was a pause.
Then he began speaking quickly.
"Mom, we already discussed this. You said everything was fine."
"I said you should have a safe flight."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then perhaps you should have been clearer."
He exhaled sharply.
"Where are our things?"
"Outside. They're safe."
"You put our suitcases on the lawn?"
"Yes."
I heard someone in the background.
Blythe.
She sounded upset.
"What is she saying?"
Cullen covered the phone.
I could hear him explaining.
Then Blythe's voice came through clearly.
"Tell her she can't do this to us."
I closed my eyes.
Cullen returned.
"Mom, we're on our honeymoon. We shouldn't have to deal with this."
"I agree. You should enjoy your honeymoon."
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
He became quiet.
Then he said something that hurt more than I expected.
"We told everyone we're moving there."
I looked at the photograph of Nile still resting inside the house.
"Who is everyone?"
"Our friends. Blythe's family. People at work. Everyone knows we're going to live there."
I slowly sat on the porch chair.
"And you told them that without asking me?"
"Mom, why are you acting like a stranger?"
I almost laughed.
A stranger.
I was the person who had sat beside him in hospital waiting rooms.
I was the person who had helped him through his first heartbreak.
I was the person who had worked extra hours when he needed money for college.
And now I was being asked why I was behaving like a stranger because I wouldn't hand over a house.
"I am your mother, Cullen. I am not your landlord, and I am not a property you can claim."
He didn't answer immediately.
Then Blythe began crying.
I heard her clearly.
"Your mother has ruined everything."
I felt a knot form in my chest.
Cullen returned to the phone.
"Mom, Blythe already gave notice at our apartment."
I looked toward the driveway.
There was a small pile of cardboard near the garage.
"That was her decision."
"We have nowhere to go when we get back."
"You have an apartment until you arrange somewhere else."
"We already gave it up!"
"Then you should have waited until you had permission to move."
He went silent.
I could almost picture his expression.
The tight jaw.
The irritated eyes.
The belief that I would eventually give in.
He had always been good at waiting for me to change my mind.
When he was younger, he would ask for something.
I would say no.
Then he would return an hour later with a sad face and a softer voice.
Eventually, I would reconsider.
I suppose he believed the same method would work at forty.
But this time, it wouldn't.
"Mom, please," he said.
I heard the change in his voice.
He was trying to sound reasonable now.
"Let's not make this a family problem."
I looked down at my new keys.
"It became a family problem when you decided I didn't deserve an invitation to your wedding."
He didn't respond.
I continued.
"Enjoy Hawaii, Cullen."
Then I ended the call.
My hands were trembling.
I wasn't proud of how emotional I felt.
But I was proud that I hadn't changed my decision.
A few minutes later, a message arrived from Blythe.
It was long.
Much longer than anything she had ever sent me before.
She explained that she and Cullen had worked hard to plan their future.
She said they had chosen the beach house because it was beautiful and close to the places they loved.
She mentioned that they had already given up their apartment.
She also said she had imagined beginning married life in a peaceful home rather than dealing with conflict.
I read it twice.
Not once did she ask whether I was comfortable with the arrangement.
Not once did she acknowledge that the house belonged to me.
Her message was about what she had lost.
Not what she had taken.
I put the phone down.
Then I looked at the boxes again.
I thought about the wedding.
Forty-six guests.
A beautiful venue.
An expensive honeymoon.
And apparently, a future home that had already been promised to them.
I wondered whether anyone at that wedding had asked where the groom's mother was.
I wondered what Cullen had said.
But I didn't know the answer yet.
That evening, I drove home.
I carried Nile's photograph with me.
I placed it on the kitchen table and cleaned the glass with a soft cloth.
The scratch in the corner was still there.
I didn't mind.
Some things didn't need to be perfect to be valuable.
I placed the frame beside the empty chair.
Then I made dinner.
Nothing special.
A little chicken, vegetables, and a slice of bread.
I ate alone.
Afterward, I sat in the living room and looked through some old photographs.
There was Cullen as a little boy.
Cullen on his first day of school.
Cullen holding a fishing rod beside Nile.
Cullen wearing his graduation gown.
I stopped at that last one.
Nile had been standing beside him.
His hand rested proudly on Cullen's shoulder.
He had been so happy that day.
I remembered how he had told me that our son would do great things.
I wondered what he would think if he could see us now.
Would he tell me to forgive him?
Would he tell me to stand my ground?
I couldn't know.
But I remembered something Nile once said when we were discussing our future.
He had told me that giving someone everything wasn't always the same as helping them.
At the time, I thought he was talking about money.
Now I wasn't so sure.
The following morning, I received another message from Cullen.
It contained no apology.
Just three words.
"We need to talk."
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I made breakfast.
I watered the plants.
I called my attorney's office to confirm that my property documents were still secure.
Then I returned to the message.
I typed a simple reply.
"We can talk when you return."
I put the phone away.
For the first time in years, I wasn't rushing to solve a problem that someone else had created.
But I had no idea that the wedding photographs were about to show me something far more painful than the missing invitation.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Wedding Photographs Looked Beautiful Until I Saw What They Had Put on Top of the Three-Tier Cake
My Only Son Called to Announce His Wedding, but One Casual Sentence Made Me Realize I Was No Longer Welcome in His Life
Part 2 of 20
