David’s voice hardened.
“If you won’t come home willingly, I’ll have you declared incompetent. I’ll get guardianship if I have to.”
Something inside me became completely still.
“David, if you try that, you’re going to discover exactly how competent I am.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I have records of every dollar I’ve spent supporting you for three years.”
Silence.
Then he said something that finally erased any guilt I still carried.
“You’re my mother. Helping us is your job.”
“No, David.”
My voice was calm.
“Helping you was my choice.”
I looked directly at Walsh.
“And now I’m making another one.”
I told David that all financial assistance to his household would end immediately.
Mortgage help.
Insurance.
School payments.
Everything.
The only exception would be the education trusts for Emma and Jake, which their parents could never access.
David’s voice changed instantly.
“Mom, please.”
“I’m not finished.”
I told him that if he made another attempt to have me declared incompetent, sent more investigators, or tried to force me back to Connecticut, I would revise my estate and donate the remaining assets to charity.
Zuri began crying.
“We’ll lose the house.”
“Then perhaps you should have considered that before treating the person helping you keep it like an embarrassment.”
David called it blackmail.
“No,” I replied. “It’s consequences.”
Then I explained something else.
“If you insist I’ve been mentally incompetent, then perhaps my attorney should examine whether I was competent when I gave you all that money.”
David stopped talking.
For once, my son had nothing to say.
I handed Walsh his phone.
“I’m living here voluntarily. I’m receiving medical care. I manage my own finances. And I have no intention of returning.”
He nodded.
“I think I have everything I need.”
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