Chapter 8 - The Mother-in-Law’s Retreat
Martha leaned over David’s shoulder, squinting at the legal document before letting out a shrill, hysterical shriek.
“It’s a forgery! It has to be!” Martha wailed, grabbing her casserole dish off the island as if it were contaminated. “David, don't just stand there looking like an idiot! Call your lawyer! Call the sheriff! She’s stealing your home!”
David didn't move. He stared at the signature at the bottom of the page, recognizing the notary seal all too well. He knew every financial bluff I had ever called, and he knew instantly that this wasn't a bluff. For the first time in our marriage, he was entirely powerless.
“You planned this,” David whispered, looking up at me with genuine horror. “You’ve been planning this for years.”
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“No, David,” I replied softly. “I spent years trying to make excuses for you. I spent years believing you when you said we had to pinch pennies while you spent hundreds on your hobbies. I spent years ignoring the way you treated our daughter like a burden. You did this to yourself.”
Martha slammed her casserole dish back onto the counter, glaring at her son with biting disgust. “Well, if you’re going to let your wife walk all over you in your own kitchen, I’m not staying another minute to watch you humiliate our family. Come on, David. Get your coat. You can stay in my guest room until she comes to her senses.”
