The manila envelope arrived without warning. Legal documents stating my only child was suing me for possession of my home—the house where I’d rocked him to sleep, bandaged his scraped knees, and held his father as he took his last breath.
Brian’s betrayal shouldn’t have surprised me. After his father’s funeral, he’d taken everything not nailed down—the silverware set from our wedding, the signed baseball collection, even the emergency cash we kept in the freezer. But this? This was cruelty perfected.
When he appeared with his attorney, I expected more coldness. What I didn’t expect was to lock eyes with James Calloway, the boy who’d given me his class ring senior year. The subtle shake of his head told me to play along.
Once inside, James’s professional demeanor melted away. “Mary Johnson, still stubborn as ever,” he said with a grin that transported me back to 1978. Then he got down to business, explaining how Brian had unknowingly incriminated himself by selling estate property.
The phone call the next day was a masterpiece. James never raised his voice as he systematically dismantled Brian’s case, citing specific laws and potential penalties. When Brian finally muttered his surrender, James winked at me—just like he had when he’d beaten Tommy Fletcher at arm wrestling to win our first date.
As we celebrated with coffee in my now-secure kitchen, I realized life had come full circle. The boy who’d once protected me from high school bullies had grown into the man who shielded me from my own son’s greed.
