Her lips tightened.
“You don’t have to be like this.”
“I’m just asking for clarity. I came here for honesty. That’s all.”
For a second, I thought she might actually try, that she might put the performance aside.
But Jenna didn’t know how to be vulnerable without a spotlight.
She leaned back, arms folded.
“Fine. I’m sorry. Happy now.”
I opened the binder.
Jenna’s eyes dropped to it like it was a weapon, and in a way, it was.
“This is every rent payment I made for you,” I said, flipping to tab one. “Over $7,400 in total, not including groceries, birthday gifts, or the down payment I gave you when you said Rick’s car got stolen, which I now realize never happened.”
She opened her mouth.
I held up a hand.
“Next,” I said, flipping to tab two, “is the lease agreement, the one with my forge signature. Here’s my actual signature for comparison. Here’s the email I sent you with the blank form. Here’s the version with your edits. The landlord has confirmed you submitted it. My lawyer has reviewed it. I have enough to press charges if I choose to.”
Jenna’s face drained of color.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I haven’t yet.”
I flipped to tab three.
“Here are testimonies from Alex, Mrs. Wilkins, and a few others. They outline your history of manipulative behavior, financial exploitation, and pattern of emotional abuse, specifically toward me. These aren’t accusations. These are patterns.”
“You went to Mrs. Wilkins,” she whispered.
“You left me no choice.”
I flipped to tab 4.
“Here’s a letter from Oliver’s teacher about his behavior after the party. In an email from Lily’s school counselor flagging your recent instability, I haven’t contacted CPS, but if Lily’s situation doesn’t improve, I will.”
That finally broke her composure.
“You’re trying to destroy me.”
“No, I’m trying to protect my son. And if possible, though, I doubt you’ll let me, your daughter.”
Jenna slumped back in her chair.
“What do you want, Nate?”
And there it was.
The only question that mattered.
I took out a piece of paper, slid it across the table.
It was a formal notorized agreement drafted by my attorney.
Nothing complicated, just three key points.
Cease all financial requests from this point forward.
Formally remove my name from any current or future leases, loans, or documentation.
No contact with Oliver unless preapproved by me.
It wasn’t revenge.
It was a boundary, a legal one.
Jenna stared at it like it was a death certificate.
“This is insane,” she muttered.
“No, this is freedom.”
She didn’t sign it.
Not then.
She shoved her chair back, mumbled something about needing time, and left the cafe in a huff, the blazer trailing behind her like a white flag.
She couldn’t quite bring herself to wave.
I sat there still, the binder in front of me.
And then I pulled out my phone and made one final call.
The next week, I called mom.
I hadn’t spoken to her since our last tense conversation, but she deserved to know.
She answered on the second ring.
“Nate, hey.”
“I just wanted you to hear it from me.”
“Okay.”
“I met with Jenna. I presented her with a formal agreement. I’ve decided I’m no longer engaging in any family financial assistance. That includes her, Rick, or anyone else.”
Silence.
Then, “Nate, I know she’s a lot, but she’s still—”
“Mom, no. Don’t. Please, just listen.”
She went quiet.
“I spent years cleaning up her messes, paying for her decisions, being the bad guy when I said no, and then being the villain when I finally stood up for my kid. I can’t do it anymore. I won’t. I’m not asking you to pick sides. I’m just letting you know that from this point forward, I’m done being the one everyone leans on.
“I’m building something better for me and for Oliver. And if that makes me selfish, fine.”
Mom exhaled.
“She’s not doing well, Nate. She’s saying you threatened her.”
“She forged a lease with my name. I could have had her arrested.”