The doorbell rang, and on the new cameras I saw it was Elellaner with a mug in her hands.
I opened the door and she handed me a fresh brewed coffee. “I thought you might need some company after everything you told me yesterday,” she said with that sincere smile I had already come to appreciate.
We sat in my living room and Eleanor told me more details from her own experience.
“My daughter said the exact same thing to me that Lena says to you. You’re like a second mom to me. We’re special to you. Everything will be ours one day anyway.”
“Those are rehearsed phrases, Mrs. Richter. They learn them from the emotional manipulation handbook.”
“Do you think such a handbook exists?” I asked half-jokingly.
“Not officially, but it seems everyone reads from the same book. Chapter 1 is make her feel indispensable.”
“Chapter two is create constant financial emergencies.”
“Chapter three is when she resists, question her mental health.”
We laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. It was both funny and tragic to recognize such predictable patterns in our own children’s behavior.
“Did you ever feel guilty for cutting off the money?” I asked Eleanor.
“Every single day for the first 3 months,” she answered honestly. “But then I started to see the results.”
“My daughter had to get a second job. Her husband stopped playing golf every weekend and started looking for extra work.”
“They learned to live within their means. And more importantly, they learned that I was a person, not a resource.”
That afternoon, I decided to do something I had postponed for years: visit my husband’s grave.
I always made excuses not to go because Max or Lena needed something urgent, or because the taxi fare was better invested in one of their emergencies.
The cemetery was quiet and beautiful. Robert’s grave looked a bit neglected because I hadn’t been there to clean it in months.
I sat on the grass next to his headstone and talked to him as if he were alive.
“Robert, my love, I think I lost myself for a while. After you left, I put all my energy into Max.”
“I wanted to be the best mother in the world, thinking somehow he would grow up without a father, but I think in the process I forgot to be myself.”
The wind blew gently, and for a moment I felt like he was listening to me.
“Our son has become someone I don’t recognize. Or maybe he was always like this and I didn’t want to see it.”
“His wife is well, you know how she is. The money you left for me to live peacefully, I spent it taking care of them.”
“But not anymore, my love. I have learned.”
I cleaned his grave, replaced the withered flowers with new ones, and stayed there for another hour, simply enjoying the peace.
For the first time in years, I was not in a hurry to get home to solve a crisis for Max and Lena.
When I got home, there were three cars parked in front of my door again. My heart raced, but this time, I was prepared.
The cameras showed me that it was Max, Lena, and two other people I didn’t recognize. Everyone seemed agitated, talking to each other and pointing at my house.
I didn’t get out of the car. Instead, I called Mr. Weber, my lawyer.
“Mr. Weber, they are at my house again. This time, they’ve brought more people. What should I do?”
“Don’t get out of the car, Mrs. Richter. I’ll be there right away, and I’ll call the police.”
“After our conversation yesterday, I requested a temporary restraining order. They are not allowed to be on your property.”
Minutes later, Mr. Weber and two police patrol cars arrived. I watched the officers talk to Max and Lena.
Saw my son gesticulate angrily. Saw Lena crying again, but this time her tears did not move me.
One of the officers approached my car. “Ma’am, you can get out safely. Your visitors are going to leave immediately.”
As I got out of the car, Max shouted at me from the street. “Mom, this is ridiculous. We’re your family. You can’t call the police on your own son.”
“Max,” I replied with a calm that surprised even me, “family doesn’t threaten lawsuits for mental incompetence.”
“Family doesn’t break into people’s homes without permission. Family doesn’t treat their mothers like ATMs.”
Lena screamed from across the street. “You’re going to pay us everything you owe us. We have bills you co-signed for. You can’t just abandon us like this.”
Mr. Weber interjected. “Mrs. Brooks, any future communication must be through my office, and I suggest you consult with an attorney before making collection threats because my client has full documentation of all the payments she voluntarily made for 3 years.”
I watched them drive away in their cars, defeated, but not giving up. I knew this wasn’t over, but for the first time in this situation, I felt confident.
I had professional help. I had emotional support from Eleanor. And more importantly, I had mental clarity about what was right and what was wrong.
That night, Eleanor invited me to her house for dinner. I met her daughter who was visiting, and I was able to see with my own eyes what a healthy family relationship looked like.
They spoke respectfully to each other, asked sincerely about each other’s lives, and laughed together. The daughter didn’t ask for money once the entire evening.
“I wanted that with Max, too,” I confessed to Ellaner after her daughter had left.
“And maybe you’ll get it one day,” she replied. “But first, he has to learn that you are a person who deserves respect, not just a source of income.”
For the first time in weeks, I went to bed feeling hopeful about the future.
The next few days were strangely peaceful. The surveillance cameras showed me that Max and Lena were driving past my house several times a day.
Sometimes slowly, sometimes they parked for a few minutes, but without getting out. It was as if they were studying my routine, looking for the perfect moment for their next move.
Mr. Weber had advised me to document every one of these visits, so I kept a detailed log with the date and time. “Their persistence will work in our favor,” he had said.
“Every time they show up after we’ve told them not to approach, it strengthens our case for a permanent restraining order.”