The realtor returned from the hallway about ten minutes later.
She was carrying her phone and a small notebook.
Paul stood immediately.
"Well?"
She looked at him.
"I've spoken with my office."
"And?"
"We need independent confirmation of the mortgage position and the authority under which the property was listed."
Paul sighed.
"We've already provided the power of attorney."
"I understand."
"Then what's the problem?"
She glanced at me.
"The mortgage is a separate issue. We cannot ignore a registered charge against the property."
Denise crossed her arms.
"So what happens now?"
The realtor explained that the transaction would need further legal review.
The accepted offer did not mean the property could simply be transferred without addressing the existing mortgage.
She also needed confirmation that the people who had instructed her to market the property had the necessary legal authority.
I listened carefully.
I didn't interrupt.
For once, I was happy to let someone else explain the situation.
Paul looked toward the window.
The sign was still there.
"Can we at least keep the buyers interested?"
The realtor answered that she would have to speak with the relevant parties.
The young couple had already left.
I wondered what they thought about the house now.
Perhaps they had found another property.
Perhaps they were telling their friends about the strange open house where the owner arrived with a suitcase and discovered her own children selling her home.
I almost smiled.
Then Denise spoke.
"Mom, we need to discuss Meadowbrook."
I looked at her.
"No, we don't."
"Just hear me out."
"I've heard enough about Meadowbrook."
She leaned forward.
"You could have a fresh start there."
I looked around the living room.
Frank's chair was beside the fireplace.
His reading lamp still stood next to it.
The little wooden table had a faint mark where he once spilled coffee.
I had lived with those things for years.
They weren't obstacles.
They were my life.
"I already have a home," I said.
Denise looked frustrated.
"You can't stay here forever."
"Neither can you stay in your childhood bedroom forever. That doesn't mean I should sell it."
Paul closed his eyes briefly.
"Mom, nobody is saying you have to leave tomorrow."
I looked at him.
"You accepted an offer with a thirty-day closing."
He had no answer.
The realtor gathered her documents.
She said she would contact the legal professionals involved and would not make further representations until the outstanding questions were resolved.
I thanked her.
Then I asked her to remove the open-house materials.
She nodded.
The brochures disappeared into her folder.
The remaining refreshments were taken away.
Eventually, the front door closed.
The cars began leaving Birch Lane.
One by one.
The house became quiet again.
Not peaceful.
Not yet.
But quiet.
Paul stood near the fireplace.
Denise was still at the dining table.
I picked up my suitcase.
"Are you both leaving?"
Paul looked surprised.
"Mom, we need to sort this out."
"We will. But not today."
Denise stood.
"You can't just shut us out."
I looked at her.
"I didn't shut you out. You made a decision without me."
She grabbed her handbag.
Paul followed her toward the entrance.
Before leaving, he turned around.
"That offer was very good, Mom."
I looked at him.
"Then you should have asked me whether I wanted it."
He lowered his eyes.
The door closed behind them.
I stood in the hallway for a long time.
Then I walked to the dining room.
The table was clean.
The brochures were gone.
But I could still see the faint circular mark left by the cheese platter.
I rubbed it with my thumb.
Then I went to the study and placed the mortgage papers back inside Frank's old desk.
I wasn't ready to explain everything.
I wasn't ready to forgive anyone.
But I knew one thing.
The next conversation would happen with proper documents on the table.
Not promises.
Not family pressure.
Not another clipboard.
I had spent too many years allowing other people to tell me what was best.
That evening, I called the lender.
I asked to speak with the person handling my account.
When she answered, I explained that my children had attempted to arrange a sale of the property without my agreement.
She listened.
Then she asked whether I wanted her to confirm the lender's legal interest to the professionals handling the proposed transaction.
"Yes," I said.
"Please make sure they receive the correct information."
I looked through the study window.
The real estate sign was still standing in my front yard.
For the moment.
I put down the phone.
Then I opened the drawer and took out Frank's old watch.
I placed it beside the mortgage folder.
Two things I had kept safe.
Two things my children had never understood.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Morning After the Open House, I Discovered My Children Had Told the Buyers a Very Different Story About Me
I Thought My Children Were Worried About Me, Until I Came Home and Found Strangers Inside My House
Part 8 of 24
