“Wise advice,” I said coldly. “Too bad you didn’t listen.”
“I know.”
Mr. Hector drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Well, we need to resolve the practical situation.”
Mrs. Beatatrice has three legal options.
Megan spread documents on the table.
Option one: immediate eviction. You have 30 days to vacate the property. Mrs. Beatatrice gets her house back.
Emily paled.
Option two: full purchase. You pay Mrs. Beatatrice $136,800 within a period not exceeding 90 days. The deed is transferred. The house becomes legally yours.
Daniel shook his head.
“We don’t have that kind of money. Not even close.”
Option three, Megan said, and looked at me.
This was my idea.
The one we had discussed.
Property division and cohabitation agreement.
“What does that mean?” Daniel asked.
I took a deep breath.
This was the moment.
“It means we legally divide the house. I get 60% of the property. You get 40%, registered with the notary, with all the legal force.”
But Emily frowned, confused.
“60/40? That means—”
“It means the house will still be more in my name than yours. But you will have something. You won’t be on the street.”
“And where would you live?” Daniel asked.
“I’m not going back to that house,” I said firmly. “I’m staying where I am. But my 60% comes with conditions.”
Megan unfolded another document.
“Mrs. Beatatrice will rent her percentage of the house to a family she personally selects. Tenants who will live in the house with you. You will share common spaces. They will pay a monthly rent of $850 that will go directly to Mrs. Beatatrice.”
Emily’s eyes widened.
“You want… you want us to live with strangers.”
“I want you to learn how it feels to share your space with someone you didn’t choose,” I replied. “I want you to understand the discomfort, the lack of privacy, having to be nice to people who are in your house.”
Daniel understood immediately.
“Like how you felt with us.”
“Exactly.”
“And the other condition?” he asked.
“Family therapy,” I said. “Daniel, you and I will go to therapy once a week for six months. I’ll pay for the first ten sessions. You pay for the rest. Without Emily. Just the two of us.”
My son had tears in his eyes.
“You would do that. After everything, you would still want to fix our relationship.”
“You’re my son,” I said, my voice trembling. “You made terrible mistakes. You failed me. But you’re my son, and I’m not going to give up on you without trying.”
