“She’s trying to ruin our marriage,” he said, his voice tight. “And to think that we uprooted Emma for this? This ends now.”
We hatched a plan.
The next morning, over coffee and bagels, I casually mentioned to Lorraine that Jason and I were considering moving out.
Her face lit up, though she tried to hide it behind a thin veil of concern.
“Oh, well, if you think that’s best…” she said, barely containing her glee.
That evening, Jason and I invited a lawyer friend over for dinner, someone Lorraine didn’t recognize. We told her he was a “realtor” helping us look for new homes, but honestly, we just wanted to figure out where we stood. Lorraine spent most of the dinner talking about how much she preferred to live alone.
“I’m old now,” she said, as if she were trying to convince herself.
“I need my space. And I’m sure you kids need yours. Don’t you want to give Emma a baby brother or sister?”
I wasn’t sure that I wanted the house, but Jason had persuaded me to fight.
“Come on, honey,” he said.
“It’s important for you to have a piece of your father’s legacy. You are his legacy, yes. But he built this with his hands.
This home has been around since you were a child. You want Lorraine to have it, really?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I want.”
A week later, we called a “family meeting” in the living room.
Lorraine sauntered in, confident and smug, as if she’d already won.
Jason handed her a stack of papers.
“What’s this?” she asked, flipping through the pages.
“It’s the deed to the house,” Jason said calmly. “We had it reviewed, and it turns out that Calla and I are the primary beneficiaries. You don’t own this house, Lorraine.
We do.”
Her face went pale.
“That’s not possible. Calla! What did you do?
Your father would never leave me with nothing…”
“He didn’t leave you with nothing, Lorraine,” I said. “He left you with a lot of money. But this is my childhood home.
Of course, he’d want me to have it.”
Lorraine started to protest, but Jason cut her off.
“And before you think about pulling another stunt, know this: we’re not going anywhere. But you might want to start packing.”
“Or you can see if your boyfriend will take you in?” I said nonchalantly.
Lorraine stammered, her sharp tongue suddenly useless.
“What? There’s no boyfriend?” I asked.
“I planned that!
I staged the entire thing! There is no boyfriend, Calla. There is no cheating, which is what I wanted you to think.
I wanted you to see the robe and know that… or think that something was going on.”
“I know,” I said. “I overheard you. But look, you have a week.
I’ll give you that because it’s what my father would expect from me.”
“I’ll be better. I’ll do everything—the cooking, the cleaning, homework with Emma, you name it!” she begged.
“I don’t want my child around you,” I said simply. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how I feel.”
Within a week, Lorraine was gone.
And I finally had peace in the home my dad had loved so much. I turned Lorraine’s bedroom into a reading room for myself, and half of it a playroom for Emma.
And that robe?
Lorraine had conveniently left it behind. I donated it to charity with the rest of the things she’d abandoned.
Let someone else enjoy it because I sure as hell wasn’t keeping it.
What would you have done?
