I thought I had missed part of the conversation.
“For what?”
My mother sat on my sofa and folded her hands.
“Melanie’s new home is expensive to maintain. Your layout is better for the children, and you only have Owen.”
Only.
My twelve-year-old son was upstairs doing homework.
My father placed the folder on my coffee table.
“You can rent somewhere smaller. Sign the transfer today, and we can keep this from becoming unpleasant.”
I opened the folder.
Inside was a quitclaim deed transferring my house to a company called Donnelly Family Holdings LLC. The legal description of my property was already typed in. Yellow tabs marked the places where I was expected to sign.
On the final page was a notary acknowledgment with a blank date.
“You sold your house and gave Melanie an $860,000 home,” I said. “Now you want mine too?”
My mother gave me the wounded expression she used whenever my boundaries inconvenienced her.
