“Of course.”
Then she turned to Daniel.
“You requested mediation. Would you like to begin?”
He cleared his throat.
“Mom, I wanted to say in front of a witness that I’m sorry I didn’t defend you that night. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up to Jessica when she said what she said. It was wrong. You deserved better.”
It sounded prepared.
But the emotion in his voice was real.
Jessica squeezed his hand with practiced support, then turned to me with her softest face.
“I’m sorry too, Margaret. I was having a terrible month, and I took it out on you. It was completely inappropriate. I hope one day you can forgive me.”
She almost sold it.
Almost.
“Thank you for the apology,” I said neutrally. “I appreciate your saying it.”
Rachel brightened, relieved by the civility.
“Wonderful. Now, regarding the property at 2247 Maple Street—”
“I’d like to propose a solution,” Jessica interrupted gently.
She laid it out in calm, reasonable language: if I truly owned the house, perhaps they could simply formalize what was already happening. Continue making payments. Gradually buy the property from me. Transfer the deed later, once they had paid, say, seventy percent of the value.
On the surface, it sounded almost fair.
That was the dangerous part.
Tom leaned forward.
“To clarify, you’re proposing that my client effectively finance a six-hundred-eighty-thousand-dollar home for four-hundred-seventy-six thousand, with no formal lender protections, no underwriting, no down payment from you, and a transfer of title on vague future terms?”
Jessica’s expression did not flicker.
“It’s her son’s home. Surely family matters more than money.”
“Family works both ways,” I said.
“Exactly,” Jessica replied, as if we were suddenly allies. “Which is why forcing us out, especially while we’re trying to start a family, would be so extreme.”
I looked at Daniel.
He was studying the table.
“You’re pregnant?” I asked.
A beat.
“We’re trying actively,” she said. “And the stress of potentially losing our home isn’t helping.”
Rachel stepped in.
“Perhaps we could discuss a lease arrangement. Miss Foster retains ownership, but Daniel and Jessica remain as tenants.”
“At what rent?” Tom asked.
Rachel glanced at her notes.
“Market rate for a home in that neighborhood would be approximately forty-two hundred a month.”
Jessica’s mask slipped for a fraction of a second.
“That’s ridiculous. We can’t afford that.”
“You have forty-seven thousand dollars in savings,” I said.
The room fell still.
Jessica flushed.
“That is private information.”
“I had every right to verify claims of hardship being made against me.”
“This is harassment.”
She pushed her chair back and stood up, the soft-girl performance evaporating all at once.
“You’re a vindictive woman who can’t stand that your son chose a wife, that he has his own life, so you’re trying to break us.”
“Jessica,” Daniel said sharply, grabbing for her hand.
She yanked away.
“No. I’m done pretending. She bought that house in secret so she could always have control over you. So you would always be indebted to her.”
I stood too.
“I bought that house so my son would have a home he could not yet afford on his own. I asked for nothing but basic respect.”
“You wanted gratitude forever.”
“I wanted decency.”
Rachel was trying to restore order now.
“Mrs. Foster, please sit down.”
“Why?” Jessica shot back. “So she can keep acting like the victim? She has enough money to retire tomorrow. She could have let one ugly night go. But no. She wants punishment.”
“One ugly night?” I repeated, my own control fraying at last. “You told my son to put me out. You made it clear exactly what place you think I have in your family. That was not one bad night. That was the truth coming out.”
She laughed, sharp and ugly.
“Fine. You want the truth? You’re lonely. You tried to buy your son’s love because you don’t have enough else in your life. He doesn’t need you the way he used to, and you can’t stand it.”
Daniel had gone white.
