“But don’t you feel a responsibility to help your family?” she pressed.
The question outraged me. “Ms. Schmidt, my responsibility as a mother was to raise my son until he was eighteen, to educate him, and to give him the tools to become an independent, self-sufficient adult. My son is thirty-five years old. He is married. He is perfectly capable of working and supporting himself. Financing his adult life is not my responsibility. It was my choice. And I have chosen to stop.”
Mr. Weber added, “Ms. Schmidt, would you consider it normal for a thirty-five-year-old man to be unable to pay his own rent without financial help from his seventy-one-year-old mother?”
She had no answer. “Mrs. Richter,” she asked after a long pause, “do you manage your own finances?”
“I can show you my bank statements, my investment portfolio, my tax returns. Everything is in perfect order.”
“Do you live independently?”
“As you can see, I maintain my home. I take care of myself. I drive my own car. I have healthy social relationships with my neighbors.”
“Do you take any medication?”
“Vitamins, and the occasional aspirin. I have no medical conditions requiring prescription medication.”
Mr. Weber handed her another document. “My client has recently undergone a full battery of medical and psychological evaluations as part of our legal preparation. She is in excellent mental and physical health for her age.”
Ms. Schmidt closed her folder with a sigh. “Mrs. Richter, based on this conversation and the documentation provided, I see no grounds for intervention. I will be closing this case.”
After she left, Mr. Weber and I sat in silence for a moment. “Renate,” he said finally, “this is going to continue. They are spending money they don’t have to hire professionals to try and have you declared incompetent. They are getting desperate.”
“What else can they do?”
“They can file a formal lawsuit for incompetence in family court. It’s an expensive and difficult case to win, but if they find a sympathetic judge and a psychiatrist willing to testify for them, they could potentially have a guardian appointed.”
The thought was terrifying. “They could take control of my money?”
“They could try,” he conceded. “But we have overwhelming evidence that you are fully competent and that their motivations are purely financial.”
That afternoon, I called Diana again to unload my fears. “Sister,” she said after hearing about the social worker, “do you see how far they’re willing to go? They’re risking everything—family ties, their own money, their reputations—all for access to your bank account. They’ve shown you who they are.”
Her words were the final key that unlocked my heart. Max and Lena had revealed their true nature completely. There was no path back to a genuine relationship. To them, I had never been a mother. I had always been a financial resource. This realization, though profoundly painful, was also utterly liberating. I no longer had to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I no longer had to feel guilty for protecting myself. They had proven, beyond any doubt, that my well-being meant less to them than my wealth.
That night, Eleanor came over with a surprise. She had brought her friends from her garden club to meet me. “Renate, these are my dear friends: Maria, Carmen, and Elfriede. We’ve all had our own battles with family members who saw us as ATMs.”..
