When Luis finished, he handed me three sets of new keys.
“All set, ma’am. These are the only keys that exist now. The old locks are useless.”
I paid him two hundred dollars in cash. It was money I hadn’t planned to spend, but it was necessary.
After Luis left, Edward checked the whole house with me. We verified that all the windows closed properly, that the doors were secure.
“If you hear any noise tonight, call the police first and me second,” he instructed me. “Don’t go out to investigate. Don’t open the door. Just call.”
“Do you think Michael is capable of forcing his way in?”
The idea terrified me.
“I don’t know, but I prefer to be cautious.”
Edward gave me a hug before leaving.
“Get some rest, Brenda. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty to go to the bank.”
After Edward left, I was alone in my house for the first time since the confrontation. The silence was deafening. I made myself a chamomile tea with trembling hands and sat at the kitchen table, the same table where Michael had eaten a thousand times as a child, where we had shared breakfasts, lunches, dinners, where I had helped him with his homework, where we had celebrated his birthdays.
My phone vibrated again.
Another message from Michael.
Mom, I came to your house, but you changed the locks. Seriously? Are you afraid of me now? It’s me, Mom. Your son. The one you raised. You don’t trust me anymore?
The cynicism of that message made me angry.
Trust him?
He had destroyed all my trust.
I wrote a reply for the first time.
Don’t come to my house again. Don’t contact me again. My lawyer will be in touch with you soon.
I sent the message and blocked his number. Then I blocked Christina’s too. I didn’t want to hear any more pleas, more manipulations, more attempts to make me feel guilty.
The night was long and difficult. Every noise made me jump. The wind against the windows sounded like someone trying to get in. The tree branches scraping the roof sounded like footsteps.
I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything that had happened over and over. I thought about all the moments I had misinterpreted. The time Michael insisted on helping me organize my financial documents. He was probably looking for information he could use. The time he asked me how much my house was worth. I thought it was innocent curiosity. He was calculating how much he could use as collateral.
All those signs I had ignored because I never imagined my own son could betray me like this.
At three in the morning, I heard the sound of a car parking in front of my house. I got up with a racing heart and looked out my bedroom window.
It was Michael’s car.
I saw him get out, walk to my door, ring the doorbell once, twice, three times. Then he pounded on the door with his fist, each blow echoing in the silent night.
“Mom, open the door. I need to talk to you.”
His voice sounded desperate, almost hysterical.
“Please, just let me explain. It wasn’t like it sounded in the restaurant.”
My hand trembled over the phone, ready to call the police if necessary.
But Michael didn’t try to force his way in.
After five minutes of knocking and shouting, he finally gave up. I watched him go back to his car, sit inside for several minutes with his head resting on the steering wheel, and then start the car and drive away.
I couldn’t go back to bed after that. I made another tea and sat in the living room waiting for dawn.
I thought about my husband, dead for five years. I wondered what he would have done in this situation. Would he have forgiven Michael? Or would he have done exactly what I was doing?
I remembered something my husband had told me once when Michael was a teenager and had been caught lying about his grades.
“Brenda,” he had said, “if we don’t teach him that actions have consequences now, he’ll grow up thinking he can get away with anything.”
I had wanted to forgive Michael that time, to let the lie slide, but my husband insisted we punish him.
Now I understood he had been right.
At six in the morning, I finally saw light through the curtains. The sun was rising. I had survived the night.
I took a shower, dressed carefully, choosing a gray dress that made me look serious and respectable. I put on a little makeup, covering the dark circles from my sleepless night.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw a different woman. Older, yes, but also stronger, wiser, more determined.
At 8:20, Edward knocked on my door. I opened it to find him standing there with two coffees in his hands and a look of determination on his face.
“Good morning, Brenda. Ready for this?”
