Paul stared at me.
For several seconds, he didn't say anything.
Then he looked at the realtor.
"Can you give us a minute?"
She didn't move.
"I think we need to clarify something first."
Her voice had changed.
It was no longer the cheerful voice she had used when welcoming prospective buyers.
She looked at me.
"Mrs. Frank, are you saying there's an outstanding mortgage secured against this property?"
"Yes."
Paul interrupted.
"Mom, stop. We already know the house was paid off."
I turned toward him.
"It was paid off. That doesn't mean it stayed that way."
Denise looked irritated.
"Why would you borrow money against a house like this?"
I didn't answer immediately.
I looked at the dining table.
The cheese platter was still there.
A small piece of cheese had fallen onto the tablecloth.
I picked it up and placed it on the plate.
It was an odd thing to do during an argument.
But I wanted my hands occupied.
Paul walked toward me.
"How much?"
"That's not something you need to know."
"We're selling the house!"
"No. You're attempting to sell the house."
The difference seemed to bother him.
Denise stepped between us.
"Mom, you're making a terrible mistake."
I almost laughed.
She had just helped arrange the sale of my home without asking me.
And somehow I was the one making mistakes.
The realtor finally spoke.
"Could I see the mortgage documentation?"
I looked at her.
"I have copies at home."
"Do you know the lender's name?"
"I do."
Paul shook his head.
"This is ridiculous."
The young couple near the living room entrance exchanged a glance.
The woman quietly picked up her handbag.
Her husband whispered something to her.
I couldn't blame them.
They had come to look at a house.
Instead, they had walked into a family dispute involving an undisclosed loan.
The realtor asked everyone to remain calm.
She explained that she would need to verify the ownership records and the status of any secured debt before proceeding.
Paul looked at her sharply.
"You have an accepted offer. We signed everything."
She answered carefully.
"An accepted offer does not remove the need to verify the seller's legal authority and the property's title."
I watched my son absorb that information.
He looked toward Denise.
She looked away.
That was when I understood something.
They had both assumed the paperwork would be enough.
They hadn't checked everything.
They hadn't asked me.
They hadn't even considered that I might have made financial decisions after Frank died.
I turned toward the staircase.
"I need to put my suitcase away."
Paul followed me.
"Mom, we're not finished."
"I know."
"Where did you get the money?"
I stopped.
"Paul, I have spent forty-three years paying bills, managing this house, and looking after your father. I don't need to explain every financial decision I make to you."
He lowered his voice.
"We're trying to protect you."
I looked at him.
"Then you should have started by protecting my right to make my own decisions."
I went upstairs.
Behind me, I heard Denise speaking quietly to the realtor.
I couldn't hear every word.
But I heard the word mortgage.
And then I heard her ask whether it could delay the closing.
I closed my bedroom door.
The closet was still open.
Someone had moved Frank's old coats.
One hanger was lying on the floor.
I picked it up.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed.
I was angry.
But beneath the anger was something worse.
I had trusted my children with a responsibility.
They had treated it like ownership.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Hospital Papers Had Been Signed in a Moment of Pain, but My Children Had Never Been Given the Authority They Claimed
I Thought My Children Were Worried About Me, Until I Came Home and Found Strangers Inside My House
Part 5 of 24
