The following week, Mrs. Collins drove me to the attorney's office.
I brought my folder.
I brought Walt's notebook.
And I brought the small note Frank had returned from the trunk.
I didn't know whether I would need all of it.
But I wanted everything organized.
The attorney was a woman named Mrs. Bennett.
She greeted me and invited me to sit down.
She asked what had brought me in.
I explained the situation.
I told her about my broken hip.
The hospital.
Kevin selling the car.
The money hidden beneath the spare tire.
And Frank returning it.
She listened carefully.
She didn't interrupt.
When I finished, she asked whether Kevin had ever been given permission to manage my finances.
I shook my head.
"No."
"Does he have access to your bank accounts?"
"No."
"Does he have authority to make medical decisions for you?"
I explained that I had never intended him to make decisions without my consent.
She nodded.
Then she asked whether I wanted him to inherit anything from me.
I looked down at my hands.
That was a difficult question.
Kevin was my only son.
I loved him.
Nothing that had happened changed the fact that I had raised him.
But loving him didn't mean I had to ignore what he had done.
"I haven't decided what I want to change," I said.
She understood.
She explained that I could review my documents and make my wishes clear.
She also advised me to keep important records somewhere secure.
I asked about the hidden money.
She suggested that I consider placing it in a secure financial arrangement rather than relying on a hiding place in a vehicle.
I listened.
I wasn't ashamed of what Walt and I had done.
We had made the best decisions we could with the knowledge we had.
But times had changed.
I wanted to protect the savings properly.
Before the appointment ended, Mrs. Bennett asked me one question.
"Do you feel safe allowing your son into your home?"
I looked at her.
I thought about the brass key.
The empty driveway.
The telephone call.
The way Kevin had looked at the grocery bag.
Then I answered honestly.
"Not right now."
She nodded.
She didn't judge me.
She simply explained that I was allowed to decide who could visit and when.
I felt a little lighter hearing that.
After the appointment, Mrs. Collins drove me home.
I placed the folder on the kitchen table.
Then I made myself some tea.
The following morning, I began arranging the transfer of my savings into an account that would be easier to monitor.
I didn't move everything at once.
I wanted to understand every step.
I asked questions.
I checked the paperwork.
And I made sure I kept copies.
For the first time in years, I was making financial decisions without worrying about how Kevin might react.
It was uncomfortable.
But it was necessary.
On Friday afternoon, Kevin appeared at my door.
I looked through the window before opening it.
He was holding a small paper bag.
I unlocked the door.
"Hello, Mom."
"Hello, Kevin."
He raised the bag.
"I brought you something."
I looked inside.
It was a loaf of bread and a small container of soup.
I thanked him.
He stepped inside.
This time, he didn't immediately look toward the bedroom cabinet.
He sat down in the living room.
For a few minutes, we talked about ordinary things.
The weather.
My recovery.
The neighbors.
Then he asked whether I had been to the bank.
I looked at him.
"Why?"
"Just wondering."
I didn't tell him about the attorney.
I didn't tell him about the paperwork.
I simply said I was taking care of my affairs.
He nodded.
Then he asked whether I had considered giving him another chance.
I looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
He rubbed his hands together.
"I know things got out of hand."
I waited.
"I shouldn't have sold the car without talking to you."
It was the closest he had come to an apology.
I nodded.
"You're right."
He looked at me.
"I was under pressure."
I didn't ask him to explain.
He continued.
"I had bills. I thought you weren't going to use it."
I looked toward the window.
"I might have used it again."
He nodded.
For once, he didn't argue.
I thanked him for bringing the food.
Then I told him I needed to rest.
He stood.
Before leaving, he said he would call again.
I told him he could.
When the door closed, I sat quietly.
His apology had been small.
It didn't repair what had happened.
But I was willing to hear him.
I wasn't willing to hand him my trust without reason.
There was a difference.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: Kevin Returned to My House With an Apology, but I Needed More Than Words to Believe Anything Had Changed
I Came Home From Three Weeks of Recovery and Found an Empty Driveway Where My Car Had Always Been
Part 15 of 20
