That afternoon, I did something I had put off for years. I visited my husband’s grave. I always had an excuse not to go—Max needed me, Lena had an emergency, the taxi fare was better spent on them. The cemetery was peaceful. Robert’s headstone looked a little neglected. I sat on the grass beside it and talked to him as if he could hear me.
“Robert, my love,” I whispered, “I think I got lost for a while there. After you left, I poured everything I had into Max. I wanted to be the perfect mother, to make sure he never felt your absence. But I think… I think I forgot to be a person along the way.” A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and for a moment, it felt like he was listening. “Our son has become someone I don’t recognize. Or maybe he was always this way, and I was just blind to it. I’ve spent the money you left for me, the money for my peaceful retirement, on taking care of them. But not anymore, my love. I’ve learned my lesson.”
I cleaned the headstone, pulled away the weeds, and placed fresh flowers in the vase. I stayed for an hour, simply sitting in the quiet. For the first time in years, I was in no hurry to get back to solve a crisis for Max and Lena.
When I returned home, my newfound peace was shattered. There were three cars parked in front of my house again. My heart hammered in my chest, but this time, I was prepared. I checked the live feed from my security cameras. It was Max, Lena, and two other people I didn’t recognize. They all looked agitated, talking animatedly and pointing at my house. I didn’t get out of my car. Instead, I called Mr. Weber.
“Mr. Weber, they’re back. They’re on my property again, and they’ve brought more people with them.”
“Stay in your car, Mrs. Richter,” he said, his voice calm and authoritative. “I’m on my way, and I’m calling the police. After our conversation, I applied for a temporary restraining order. They are not permitted to be on your property.”
Within minutes, Mr. Weber’s car and two police cruisers pulled up. I watched from the safety of my car as the officers spoke with Max and Lena. I saw my son gesturing angrily, his face contorted. I saw Lena crying again, but this time, her tears left me completely unmoved. One of the officers walked over to my car window.
“Ma’am, you can exit your vehicle safely now. We’ve instructed your visitors to leave immediately.”
As I got out, Max shouted at me from the street, his voice cracking with fury. “Mom, this is insane! We’re your family! You can’t call the police on your own family!”
“Max,” I replied, my voice steady and clear, “family doesn’t threaten to have their mother declared mentally incompetent. Family doesn’t break into her house. Family doesn’t treat her like a human cash machine.”
From across the street, Lena screamed, “You owe us that money! We have bills you co-signed for! You can’t just abandon your responsibilities!”
Mr. Weber stepped forward. “Any future communication will go through my office. And I would advise you to consult with your own attorney before making threats of collection, as my client has full documentation of every voluntary payment she made over the last three years.”
I watched them get into their cars and drive away, defeated but undoubtedly not finished. I knew this war was far from over, but for the first time, I felt a glimmer of confidence. I had professional help. I had emotional support. And I had the clear, cold knowledge that I was in the right.
That evening, Eleanor invited me to her house for dinner. I met her daughter, who was visiting, and I saw with my own eyes what a healthy, loving mother-daughter relationship looked like. They spoke to each other with respect, asked about each other’s lives with genuine interest, and laughed together easily. Not once during the entire evening did the daughter ask for money.
“I want that with Max,” I confessed to Eleanor after her daughter had left.
“And you may yet have it, one day,” she said gently. “But first, he has to learn that you are a person who deserves respect, not just a source of income.”..
