“A favor,” I repeated softly. I picked up the deed, folded it in half, and tucked it into my purse. Derek’s jaw tightened. “Mom, I’m not joking. That house is worth eight hundred grand. Brielle and I need the equity for the Miami place. You don’t need four bedrooms.” I took a slow sip of water. “You’re right, Derek. I don’t.” His shoulders relaxed. Brielle reached for the pen. Then I reached into my purse and placed a second document on the table. A custody order. Granted three weeks ago. Full legal and physical guardianship of Maisie, signed by a judge after Derek missed his fourth court date in a row. Brielle’s smile cracked. “What is that?” “That,” I said, “is the reason your Miami plans just collapsed.” Derek went pale. “You can’t —” “I already did. While you were posting beach photos, your daughter was failing third grade and crying herself to sleep. I documented everything. Her teachers testified. So did her pediatrician.” I slid one more paper across. “And this is from my attorney. The house you’re trying to take? I transferred it into an irrevocable trust last month. For Maisie. You’re not on it. Neither is your wife.” Brielle stood up so fast her chair scraped. “You scheming old —” “Sit down, dear,” I said gently. “You’re making a scene.” Derek’s hands shook. “Mom, please. I’m your son.” I finally let the warmth back into my eyes — just a flicker, just enough to hurt. “Yes. And Maisie is my granddaughter. One of you remembered her birthday this year. Guess which.” I stood, smoothed my navy dress, and laid a twenty on the table for my untouched eggs. “The nursing home brochures were a nice touch, Derek. I kept them. Maisie’s therapist found them very illuminating.” I walked out into the sunshine, where a little girl in pigtails was waiting in my car, holding the stuffed rabbit I’d bought her that morning. She waved. I waved back. Behind me, through the glass, I could hear Brielle screaming. It sounded, I thought, a lot like freedom.
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