Against my better judgment—or perhaps because I wanted to see how far they’d go—I stepped aside and let them in.
Jessica sat on my couch, hands folded demurely in her lap, a far cry from the woman who’d screamed at me two weeks ago.
“Martha, I owe you a real apology. Not just flowers or gifts—a genuine, from-the-heart apology.”
I remained standing, arms crossed, waiting.
“I’ve been selfish,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “I got caught up in wanting things, material things, and I forgot what really matters—family, love, connection.”
She looked at Derek, who nodded encouragingly.
“Derek and I have been going to counseling, like you suggested, and it’s helped me realize how much I’ve hurt you.”
“Counseling?” I repeated.
“Since when?”
“We’ve had two sessions already,” Derek said quickly. “With Dr. Morrison at the Family Wellness Center. We can give you his number if you want to verify.”
That was oddly specific.
Maybe they were serious.
“I’m glad you’re getting help,” I said.
“It’s made us realize something,” Jessica continued, meeting my eyes with what looked like sincerity. “We need you, Martha. Not your house, not your money. You.”
Derek needs his mother, and I—
She paused, her voice catching.
“I never had a good relationship with my own mother. She was cold, distant. When I married Derek, I thought maybe I could have that with you. But I let my insecurities and materialism poison everything.”
I felt something shift in my chest.
Could people really change this quickly?
Was I being too harsh?
Derek leaned forward.
“Mom, we want to start over. Really start over. We’re not asking you to trust us immediately. We know we have to earn that back. But can we at least try?”
I studied them both—Jessica’s perfect makeup, Derek’s earnest expression.
Something felt off, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what.
“What does starting over look like to you?” I asked.
“Weekly dinners,” Derek said. “No talk about houses or money or any of that. Just family time. Getting to know each other again.”
“And,” Jessica added, pulling a folder from her purse, “we brought something to show our good faith.”
She handed it to me.
“We traded in the Mercedes I bought. Used the money to pay off our credit cards instead. See? We’re making better choices.”
I opened the folder.
Inside were credit card statements marked PAID IN FULL and a receipt from a car dealership showing a trade-in credit for $47,000.
It looked legitimate.
“This is good,” I said slowly. “This is a good step.”
Jessica smiled, and for a moment it seemed genuine.
Then she said it.
“So about the house?”
There it was.
“What about the house?” My voice cooled instantly.
“Nothing,” Derek said quickly. “Nothing bad. We just… we were thinking since we’re working on ourselves, maybe you could consider adding one of us to the title, just for emergency purposes. So if something happened to you, God forbid, the property wouldn’t get tied up in probate. It would make everything so much simpler.”
“And it would show us that you’re willing to trust us again,” Jessica added, her voice honey-sweet. “That you believe we’ve changed.”
And there was the trap—baited with fake counseling and manufactured reconciliation.
“Get out,” I said quietly.
Derek’s face fell.
“Mom, we’re just trying to help—”
“Get out,” I repeated, harder now. “You came here with your act, your props, your lies. Did you really think I wouldn’t see through this?”
Jessica’s mask cracked.
“We’re trying to help you!”
“When you die, do you want the state to take everything? Do you want lawyers fighting over this house for years?”
“When I die,” I said, my voice like ice, “this house will go exactly where I want it to go, and neither of you will get a penny.”
Derek stood up, his face reddening.
“You’re being paranoid. We showed you proof we’re changing.”
“You showed me papers that could be faked in an hour. You told me about a counselor I’m supposed to just believe exists. You came here with a script you rehearsed together.”
I walked to the door and opened it.
“I’m not stupid, Derek. I’m not senile. I see exactly what you’re doing.”
Jessica stood too, her composure completely shattered.
“You ungrateful—” she hissed. “We wasted two weeks trying to be nice to you, and this is how you repay us?”
“Jess, don’t,” Derek tried to grab her arm.
She shook him off.
“No, I’m done playing games with her.”
She turned to me, face twisted with rage.
“You think you’re so smart, sitting here in your perfect little house with your perfect little life? You’re pathetic—a lonely old woman clinging to the past. Derek’s father is dead. Your friends will die soon, too. And then it’ll just be you alone. Exactly like I said before.”
Derek looked horrified, but she wasn’t finished.
“You want to cut us off? Fine. But don’t come crawling back when you fall and break a hip and there’s no one to take you to the hospital. Don’t call when you’re sick and scared and need someone to care. We’re done with you.”
She stormed out.
Derek lingered a moment, face torn between shame and anger.
“Mom, I—”
“Go,” I said firmly. “Go with your wife. You made your choice.”
After they left, I locked the door with shaking hands. My heart raced, my breath coming fast.
Jessica’s words had hit their mark—the fear of being helpless, of needing help that wouldn’t come.
Was I making a mistake?
Was pride worth isolation?
No.
No.
What they wanted wasn’t help or love.
It was control.
It was ownership.
I walked to my bedroom and pulled out the folder Gerald had prepared. Inside was everything I needed for the final phase—the culmination of weeks of planning.
My hands still shook, but not from fear anymore.
From anticipation.
They wanted to play dirty.
They hadn’t seen anything yet.
I scheduled the meeting for Friday afternoon at Gerald’s law office. The location was deliberate: neutral ground, professional setting, witnesses.
The letter I sent Derek was simple.
“We need to discuss the house situation. Come to Gerald Morrison’s office at 2:00 p.m. Friday. Bring Jessica. This is not optional.”
They arrived fifteen minutes late, probably trying to make an entrance.
Jessica wore a designer suit that had definitely been purchased after she supposedly traded in the Mercedes.
Derek looked nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Gerald’s secretary showed them into the conference room where I was waiting with Gerald and two other people they didn’t recognize: Linda—Derek’s cousin, who had sent me the damning text messages—and Robert Chen, a representative from the Reyes family, the people who had actually bought my house.
Derek froze when he saw them.
“What is this?”
“Sit down,” I said calmly. “This won’t take long.”
They remained standing.
Jessica’s eyes darted between the strangers, calculating.
“Derek, Jessica,” Gerald began formally, “we’re here today to clarify several legal matters regarding Martha Henderson’s property and finances.”
“We don’t have to listen to this,” Jessica snapped, grabbing Derek’s arm. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
“If you leave,” I said quietly, “Gerald will file a police report for attempted elder financial abuse and fraud. So I suggest you sit down.”
The color drained from Derek’s face.
They sat.
I opened the folder in front of me, my hands completely steady now.
“Derek, do you remember three weeks ago when you barged into my house and demanded I pack my things because you were selling it?”
“I was upset,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean—”
“Do you remember telling the realtor, Sandra Chen, that you owned this house? Signing preliminary paperwork as the owner. Accepting her services under false pretenses.”
His mouth opened and closed.
“That’s fraud,” Gerald said matter-of-factly. “Misrepresentation with intent to gain financial benefit.”
Jessica leaned forward.
“You can’t prove—”
“I have Sandra’s testimony,” I interrupted. “Signed and notarized. She’s prepared to testify that Derek explicitly claimed ownership of the property.”
Linda spoke then, her voice cool.
“And I have the text messages where Derek outlined his plan to manipulate his mother into giving up her house. Where he discussed having her declared incompetent despite knowing she’s perfectly capable.”
Derek’s head snapped toward her.
“You betrayed me, your own cousin.”
“You betrayed your mother,” Linda shot back. “Someone in this family had to have a conscience.”
I continued, pulling out more documents.
“Derek, do you know what this is?”
I slid a paper across the table.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
