Khloe had started to cry, not silent tears, but dramatic, exaggerated sobs.
“I can’t believe this. How can you do this to us? We were going to bring Gloria here. We promised her a better life.”
“That’s not my problem,” I said, and the words came out colder than I expected.
The officer continued.
“I also have a cease and desist order for the construction. Any remodeling, building, or modification must stop immediately. Mrs. Olga has filed a complaint for damages to private property. An inspector will be here on Monday to assess the damages and determine the corresponding compensation.”
“Compensation?” Matthew stared at me as if he didn’t know me. “You’re going to sue us? Your own family?”
“There is no family anymore,” I replied. “That was clear when I found the power of attorney you planned to have me sign. When you called me selfish for not wanting to give away what took me 40 years to get.”
“This is a mistake. We can fix this. We can talk.”
“There’s nothing left to talk about. You have until Monday at 6:00 in the morning to be out.”
The officers finished serving all the documents. They took photographs of the house, of the damages, of the incomplete work. They had Matthew and Kloe sign the acknowledgements of service.
Everything was documented, legal, irreversible.
When they left, Matthew stood in the middle of the living room, holding the papers, looking at me with an expression I had never seen before.
Hate. Pure hate.
“You’re going to regret this,” he said in a low, tense voice.
“I don’t think so.”
“Everyone is going to know what kind of mother you are. What kind of heartless person throws her own son out onto the street.”
“You’re not on the street. You have your apartment. You have your life. The only thing you don’t have is my house.”
Chloe was still crying, now sitting on the floor, hugging her knees.
“We promised Gloria. What are we going to tell her? We already sold some of our furniture to pay the deposits for the work.”
Something in that sentence caught my attention.
“You sold your furniture to pay for the work?”
Matthew didn’t answer. He looked away.
“With what money did you plan to finish the remodeling? The estimates total $120,000.”
Silence.
Then I understood.
They never had the money. They had planned to start the work and then convince me to pay or to sign that power of attorney so they could mortgage my house and get the money.
It had all been a trap from the beginning.
“Get out of my sight,” I said finally. “Pack your things and leave today. I don’t want to see you here one more minute.”
“We have 48 hours,” Matthew spat.
“Legally, yes, but morally, you’re no longer welcome here.”
I went up to my room and locked the door. I sat on the bed and finally, after two days of holding back, I let the tears come.
I wasn’t crying for them. I was crying for the family I thought I had, one that never really existed.
I didn’t leave my room all day. I listened to the comings and goings of Matthew and Kloe, their heavy footsteps up and down the stairs, the sound of boxes being dragged, doors slamming.
Sometimes I heard Khloe on the phone, her sharp voice cutting through the walls. Words like cruel, unfair, ungrateful old woman reached me in fragments.
I didn’t care.
I had crossed a line. And there was no turning back.
For the first time in my life, I had chosen my peace over the approval of others. And even though it hurt, even though I felt that emptiness in my chest that comes with final goodbyes, I also felt something else.
Something light.
Freedom.
At 5:00 in the afternoon, there was a knock on my door. It was Matthew again.
“Mom, I need to talk to you. Please.”
His voice sounded different, softer, almost pleading.
I didn’t answer. I heard him wait a few seconds and then walk away. His footsteps faded down the stairs.
When it got dark, I finally went downstairs. The house was strangely silent.
I went to the makeshift kitchen, made a cup of tea, and sat in my armchair. From there, I could see Matthew’s truck loaded with suitcases and boxes. Chloe was sitting in the passenger seat, staring at her phone, illuminated by the screen’s glow.
Matthew came out of the house with another box. He saw me in the armchair. He stopped.
“We’re almost done. We’re leaving tonight.”
I nodded without saying anything.
“Kloe is devastated. Her parents are, too. We had to tell Gloria the house wasn’t available after all. She cried for an hour.”
“It was never available, Matthew. Because it was never yours to begin with.”
“You know what the worst part of all this is?” He took a step closer. “I thought you were different. I thought despite everything, my mother was a good person. But it turns out you only care about yourself.”
“I only care about myself?”
I set the teacup on the table.
“I worked double shifts for years to pay for your college. I lent you $30,000 for your car that you never paid back. I paid for your wedding when you said you didn’t have enough. And now, because I won’t let you steal my house, I’m selfish.”
“We weren’t stealing anything. We just wanted to share.”
“Sharing is when you ask permission. What you did was an invasion.”
“Whatever you want to call it.”
He lifted the box again.
“But don’t think this is over. Everyone is going to know what you did. Your friends, the neighbors, the family. They’re going to know what kind of person you are.”
“Tell them whatever you want, Matthew. The truth always comes out.”
He left without another word.
Ten minutes later, I heard the truck’s engine. I watched the taillights disappear down the road.
And then, for the first time in two days, the house was completely silent.
My house. My space. Mine again.
I stayed up late, walking through the rooms. The master bedroom torn apart, with half-painted walls and holes in the drywall. The kitchen without cabinets, with wires hanging and the floor torn up.
I mentally calculated the damages. Not just the cost to repair, but the time, the effort to find the right workers to supervise every detail.
But it was worth it. It was all worth it if it meant getting my peace back.
On Sunday, I woke to the sound of the waves. I opened all the windows. I let the fresh sea air pour in.
I called Gregory.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Better. They’re gone.”
“Matthew and Chloe?”
“Left last night. They didn’t wait the 48 hours.”
“Good. The inspector is coming tomorrow, Monday, at 9:00. He’ll document everything. Then we can proceed with the lawsuit for damages.”
“How much do you think it will be?”
“Hard to say without the assessment. But based on what you told me, between 15 and $20,000 easily. Those custom cabinets you had were expensive. The tile floor, too. Not to mention the structural damage to the walls.”
$20,000.
An amount Matthew didn’t have. A debt that would follow him for years.
Part of me felt a pang of guilt for a second, but then I remembered the power of attorney. The plans to mortgage my house without my knowledge. The way they spoke of me as if I were a burden.