“There’s no mortgage.”
“What?”
“They paid cash.”
He stared at the screen.
“How much?”
She showed him the amount.
Patrick leaned back.
The number was higher than he expected. Higher than the estimate he had once made when he was twenty-seven and still living in my spare room.
He had assumed the house was valuable, but not like that.
For the first time, he understood that I had not sold out of desperation.
I had chosen to sell.
Megan’s face had gone pale.
“She could have waited,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For us to be ready.”
Patrick looked at her.
“Ready for what?”
She didn’t answer.
Their daughter reached across the table for a napkin. Megan handed it to her, then brushed a crumb from the girl’s sleeve.
The gesture was gentle. Automatic.
Patrick watched his wife and felt a sudden, uncomfortable recognition.
Megan had not thought of the house as an inheritance in some distant future. She had thought of it as the foundation of their immediate plans.
The remodeling folder had been in their bedroom closet for months.
He had seen the kitchen drawings. He had approved the idea of moving the laundry room. He had laughed when Megan suggested turning the upstairs sitting room into a nursery for visiting grandchildren.
He had never asked whether I knew.
He had simply assumed I would be pleased.
“What did you tell your parents?” he asked.
Megan kept her eyes on the table.
“That we would probably be moving in next summer.”
“You told them that?”
“My father asked about the lake house. I said you were handling it.”
“Handling what?”
She finally looked at him.
“Your mother’s transition.”
Patrick felt the air leave his chest.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we thought she would move somewhere smaller eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“She’s seventy-two, Patrick. She doesn’t need all that space.”
“She liked the space.”
“She liked having you there.”
“That doesn’t mean she wanted to leave.”
Megan’s voice hardened.
“You told me she had promised the house to you.”
“I said she had talked about keeping it in the family.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
The children had stopped eating.
Patrick noticed and immediately softened his tone.
“Hey,” he said, smiling at them. “Everything’s okay. Mom and Dad are just talking.”
Their daughter looked at him.
“Are we not going to Grandma’s house anymore?”
The question was simple.
Patrick had no simple answer.
He reached across the table and took her hand.
“Grandma moved to a new apartment. We’ll visit her there.”
“Does she still have the lake?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“Someone else.”
Their son frowned.
“Did they take it?”
Megan opened her mouth, then closed it.
