Denise placed the paperwork on the table.
"Who is this?"
I sat opposite her.
"You've read the name."
"That's not a bank."
"No."
"Then why would you borrow money from them?"
I folded my hands.
"Because I had my reasons."
Paul pulled out the chair beside his sister.
He looked at the first page again.
"Is this real?"
I nodded.
He examined the date.
Then the amount.
His expression became harder.
"That's a lot of money."
"It was."
"What did you do with it?"
I looked at him.
"I made a financial arrangement."
"Mom."
"Paul."
He leaned back.
Denise turned another page.
"Was Dad's estate involved?"
"No."
"Did you use the money for yourself?"
I looked at her.
"That's a private matter."
She gave a frustrated laugh.
"You expect us to accept that?"
I answered quietly.
"I expected you to ask me before selling my house."
Nobody spoke.
The realtor was reading the paperwork carefully.
She asked whether the mortgage had been registered against the property.
I confirmed that it had.
She said she would need the appropriate verification.
I agreed.
There was no reason to hide anything.
The loan was real.
The documents were real.
And I had never missed the payments.
Paul walked toward the front window.
He looked out at the real estate sign.
The red-and-white board was visible through the glass.
A small breeze moved the roses beside it.
I wondered whether he remembered planting flowers with me when he was young.
He used to carry the watering can.
He would spill half the water before reaching the garden.
I remembered laughing.
Now he was looking at the same garden as though it were an item on a property listing.
"How did you arrange all this without telling us?" he asked.
I answered honestly.
"I spoke to the lender myself."
Denise shook her head.
"You're making this sound like some kind of secret."
"It was private."
"Why?"
I didn't answer.
There were reasons I had not shared everything with my children.
Some were financial.
Some were personal.
And some had to do with the way they had started treating me after Frank died.
I didn't want every decision becoming a family meeting.
I didn't want Paul telling me what was sensible.
I didn't want Denise deciding what was best.
I wanted to remain the person responsible for my own life.
That was all.
The realtor closed the folder.
"I need to speak with my office and the conveyancing professionals handling the transaction."
Paul turned.
"Can't you just continue?"
She shook her head.
"Not until the relevant details have been checked."
Denise looked at me.
"Are you going to cancel everything?"
I considered her question.
I hadn't decided what I wanted to do with the house.
But I knew what I didn't want.
I didn't want strangers deciding where I would live.
I didn't want a sale arranged behind my back.
And I didn't want my children using a document signed in a hospital to claim control over everything I owned.
"I haven't agreed to sell Birch Lane," I said.
Paul rubbed his face.
"We already accepted an offer."
"That was your decision."
He looked at me.
"Mom, this is going to create a huge problem."
I nodded.
"It already has."
The realtor asked whether she could take copies of the mortgage papers.
I agreed, but only after making my own copies.
Then she asked for the lender's contact information.
I gave it to her.
Denise watched me do it.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that I wasn't bluffing.
I had made arrangements.
I had documents.
And I knew exactly where to find them.
When the realtor left the room to make her call, Paul sat down.
He looked exhausted.
"Why didn't you just tell us?"
I looked at him.
"Would you have listened?"
He didn't answer.
That silence told me more than his arguments had.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Realtor Made One Telephone Call, and Suddenly the House Sale Was No Longer the Simple Transaction My Children Had Promised
I Thought My Children Were Worried About Me, Until I Came Home and Found Strangers Inside My House
Part 7 of 24
