Laura’s voice was different this time. Gone was the confidence. Gone was the sharp edge.
“Mom,” she said slowly, “there’s a problem.”
“The buyer can’t complete the deal,” she continued. “The notary says something is wrong with the documents.”
I took a sip of my tea. “Nothing is wrong,” I said evenly. “Everything is exactly as it should be.”
She sounded confused now. “But I signed everything. The agent said it was fine.”
“You signed papers for something that doesn’t belong to you,” I replied. “And now the paperwork is speaking.”
She began talking quickly, trying to explain. She needed the money. The trip mattered. I barely used the house anymore. She assumed I wouldn’t mind.
I didn’t interrupt.
When she finished, I said quietly, “I never told you the house was yours. I simply didn’t correct you when you decided it was.”
There was silence on the line this time.
The kind that forces people to confront what they’ve avoided.
By the end of that day, the buyer’s deposit had to be returned. Laura lost money. She lost credibility. And for the first time in a long while, she lost control.
She didn’t apologize.
She asked for help.
“Can you fix this?” she asked. “Just this once.”
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