Chapter 3 - THIS HOUSE ISN’T YOURSMichael read the document twice.
His mother’s signature appeared genuine.
The date was three weeks after Eleanor entered a rehabilitation center to recover from a broken hip.
Michael remembered that week.
He had visited her every afternoon.
Eleanor had been tired but mentally sharp.
She complained about hospital coffee, criticized Michael’s tie and demanded that Daniel bring his spelling book during the next visit.
She had not mentioned giving Margaret control over anything.
“This is impossible,” Michael said.
Margaret folded her arms.
“It was Eleanor’s decision.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“She did not trust you to accept it.”
Michael looked up.
“My mother appointed an employee to control her home instead of her only son?”
“I am not merely an employee.”
“What are you, then?”
“The person who remained here while you escaped your responsibilities.”
Michael’s eyes hardened.
“You have ten minutes to leave.”
Margaret did not move.
“If you force me out, I will call the police.”
“Please do.”
“I will also contact family services.”
Daniel drew closer to his father.
Margaret noticed.
“I have documented his aggressive behavior. Today’s incident is only the latest example.”
“He hugged his brother.”
“He interfered with necessary care, shattered a plate and threatened me.”
“You slapped him.”
“That is his accusation.”
Michael pointed toward the mark on Daniel’s cheek.
“That is evidence.”
Margaret’s confidence faltered for half a second.
Then she gestured toward a discreet camera near the living-room ceiling.
“Review the security footage.”
Michael opened the home-security application on his telephone.
The living-room camera showed as offline.
So did the dining room, hallway and nursery.
“Why are the cameras disconnected?”
“The system failed yesterday.”
“All six cameras?”
“It is an old system.”
Michael had installed it less than a year earlier.
He called the family attorney, but the call went directly to voicemail.
Margaret took out her own phone.
“You should consider your position carefully.”
“My position is that you struck my son.”
“And mine is that you are an absent father who returned without understanding his children’s needs.”
Michael moved between her and the boys.
“Go upstairs, Daniel.”
Daniel shook his head.
“I’m not leaving Noah.”
“Noah is coming with us.”
Michael carried the toddler and guided Daniel toward the staircase.
Margaret followed.
“You cannot enter Eleanor’s private rooms.”
“This is my family’s home.”
“You are a guest under the current legal authority.”
Michael stopped.
He had grown up in the mansion.
His father died there.
His wedding photographs hung on its walls.
Laura had brought both boys home through its wooden entrance.
Now a caregiver stood on the marble floor and called him a guest.
Daniel pointed toward the wall of photographs.
“That’s what I told her. This house isn’t hers.”
Margaret looked sharply at him.
“What else did you tell your father?”
Daniel’s courage wavered.
Michael placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You can tell me anything.”
Margaret spoke softly.
“Remember what happens when children invent stories.”
Daniel’s face went pale.
Michael turned toward her.
“What does that mean?”
“Ask him.”
Daniel looked at his father.
Then at the family photographs.
One frame was slightly crooked.
It showed Eleanor with both grandsons in the garden.
“Grandma didn’t forget us,” Daniel whispered.
Michael crouched.
“Who said she did?”
“Margaret.”
“That isn’t true.”
“She said Grandma stopped writing because she didn’t want to see us anymore.”
Margaret’s mouth tightened.
“I said Eleanor needed rest.”
Daniel pointed at the crooked photograph.
“She put Grandma’s letters behind that picture.”
Margaret moved first.
She rushed toward the wall.
Michael caught her wrist before she reached the frame.
“Don’t touch it.”
Margaret tried to pull free.
“You have no right to search Eleanor’s private correspondence.”
Michael removed the photograph.
Three unopened envelopes fell onto the marble floor.
Each was addressed in Eleanor’s handwriting.
To Daniel and Noah.
Daniel stared at them.
Michael opened the first envelope.
Inside was a birthday card dated six weeks earlier.
May you like
At the bottom, Eleanor had written:
If Margaret tells you I no longer want to see you, she is lying.
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