“Mom, Amber and I have been talking. We think it’s time for you to make a transition.”
“A transition?”
“You’re getting older,” he said carefully. “This house is becoming too much for you.”
“I take care of this house perfectly well.”
My voice was sharper than I intended.
“I’ve maintained it longer than you’ve been alive.”
Amber gave a small laugh.
“Vera, no one is saying you haven’t tried. But we need to be realistic. You’re sixty-two. Things are only going to become more difficult.”
Sixty-two.
She said it as though I were ninety-two.
As though the woman who still mowed her own lawn, managed her finances, cooked every meal, drove herself everywhere, and volunteered at the library twice a week had suddenly become incapable of independent life.
“The house sold yesterday,” Dominic said.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“We received an offer for two hundred fifty thousand dollars. The buyers want to close next week.”
The number struck me almost as hard as the betrayal.
Harold and I had bought the house for thirty-five thousand dollars decades earlier.
Since then, we had replaced the roof, remodeled the kitchen, added a sunroom, landscaped the yard, and poured thirty-five years of work and love into every corner.
It was where I had raised my children.
Where birthdays had been celebrated.
Where Christmas mornings had unfolded.
Where Harold and I had shared almost four decades together.
Where I had mourned him after losing him three years earlier.
“You can’t sell my house,” I whispered.
Dominic finally looked at me.
“Actually, Mom, I can.”
He opened his briefcase and removed a folder.
“Remember the power of attorney you signed when Dad was sick?”
My stomach tightened.
Of course I remembered.
I had signed documents in a hospital waiting room while Harold was fighting for his life.
Dominic had told me it was simply to help handle medical matters and insurance if I became overwhelmed.
“That document was for medical decisions.”
Dominic hesitated.
“It was broader than you remember.”
“No.”
“It gave me authority over financial matters too.”
Behind him, Amber’s face brightened.
“We’re leaving for Europe today,” she announced.
I slowly turned toward her.
“What?”
“Three months,” she said. “France, Italy, Spain, maybe Monaco. Dominic works so hard. We both deserve the chance to enjoy life.”
And suddenly everything became painfully clear.
They were going to Europe.
With the money from my house.
“It isn’t only about the vacation,” Dominic said quickly.
He must have seen the realization on my face.
“We’re investing in our future too. Amber wants to start a business. I’ve been thinking about going back to school. This money gives us options.”
I stared at him.
This was the child I had carried for nine months.
The little boy whose fevers I had sat beside all night.
The teenager whose baseball games I never missed.
The young man whose graduation made me cry.
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