Cullen arrived the following afternoon.
I heard his car before I saw him.
The familiar engine stopped outside, followed by the sound of a door closing.
I stood near the kitchen window and watched him walk toward the house.
He was wearing a pressed shirt and carrying his phone in one hand.
He looked irritated before he even reached the door.
I opened it.
"Hi, Mom."
"Come in."
He walked past me and entered the living room.
I had prepared coffee, although I wasn't sure either of us would drink it.
He looked around as if he expected to find something unusual.
Then he sat down.
I remained standing for a moment before taking the chair opposite him.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I had imagined this conversation many times.
In some versions, he apologized immediately.
In others, he admitted that he had made a mistake and asked me to help him correct it.
I had even imagined him getting angry.
What I hadn't expected was how ordinary the room would feel.
The curtains were open.
The clock was ticking.
A small pile of mail sat on the side table.
Nothing about the setting suggested that we were about to discuss something that might permanently change our relationship.
I placed my hands on my knees.
"I want to start with one question."
He leaned back.
"All right."
"What document did you show Miles?"
Cullen looked toward the window.
"It was related to the house."
"I know that. What was it?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Mom, you're making this sound much worse than it is."
"I'm asking you to identify a document."
"It was paperwork about the property."
I waited.
He looked annoyed that I hadn't accepted the answer.
"Did you tell Miles that I had transferred the beach house to you?"
"I told him the transfer was being arranged."
"Had I agreed to that?"
He looked at me.
"You told me you wanted the house to stay in the family."
I thought about our conversations.
I had said that I wanted Cullen to remain part of my life.
I had said that I hoped the house would continue to bring the family together.
I had spoken about grandchildren who might someday visit.
But I had never said the house was his.
"Keeping something in the family doesn't mean giving it to you while I'm still alive."
He shook his head.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then explain what you meant."
He picked up his phone, turned it over in his hands, and placed it on the table.
He said he had been discussing future plans with Blythe.
Her family had asked about the beach house.
He had explained that it would eventually be his.
I asked him why he had said that.
"Because you're my mother."
I felt something sink inside me.
He spoke as though our relationship answered every question.
As though being my son gave him the right to speak for me.
As though I had no separate wishes, plans, or intentions of my own.
"Being your mother doesn't make the house yours."
He stared at me.
"I never said it did."
"You told Miles the transfer had been completed."
He opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
I continued.
"He told me you showed him a deed. You told me yourself that you showed him paperwork."
Cullen looked down.
For the first time since he had arrived, he seemed unsure of what to say.
I asked him whether the document had been signed by me.
He said he didn't want to discuss the document without speaking to Blythe first.
That answer frightened me more than his earlier excuses.
"Why does Blythe need to be involved in a document concerning my property?"
"Because we're married, Mom. We make decisions together."
"About your property, yes. Not mine."
He stood up.
Then he walked toward the window and looked outside.
I remained seated.
I didn't want the conversation to become a contest over who could sound more upset.
I wanted him to answer.
After a while, he turned around.
"You don't understand what this has done to us."
I stared at him.
"What has what done?"
"All this uncertainty."
I almost asked him whether he had considered the uncertainty he had created for me.
Instead, I let him continue.
He explained that Blythe's family had been asking questions about the house.
He said he had told them that everything was settled.
Now he was worried that they would think he had misled them.
I listened carefully.
He was worried about his reputation.
He was worried about what other people would think.
He was worried about the plans he had made.
He had not once asked whether I was frightened.
He had not asked whether I felt betrayed.
He had not asked whether I understood what he was doing.
He was focused on the consequences for himself.
I felt a sadness so deep that I had to look away.
"Cullen, did you ever consider asking me what I wanted?"
He frowned.
"Of course."
"When?"
He didn't answer.
I reminded him that I had not been invited to his wedding.
He looked irritated.
"That's a completely different issue."
"It doesn't feel different to me."
"The wedding was about Blythe and me."
"And the house is about you and Blythe?"
He looked away.
I continued.
"You told me I didn't fit the kind of event you wanted. Now you're telling other people that my home is part of your future."
He began to speak, but I raised my hand.
I had never done that with him before.
Not in a serious conversation.
"Please let me finish."
He stopped.
"I don't expect you to agree with every decision I make. I don't expect to be involved in every part of your life. But I do expect you to respect my choices about my own property."
I paused.
"And I expect you to tell the truth about what I have and haven't agreed to."
He sat down again.
For a moment, he looked almost like the little boy who used to come to me after making a mistake.
I wanted to reach across the table.
I wanted to tell him that we could fix everything.
But I didn't know what needed fixing yet.
He finally admitted that he had told Miles the transfer was complete.
He said he believed the arrangements would be finalized.
I asked him what arrangements he meant.
He said he had expected the paperwork to be completed as part of the family's future plans.
I asked whether I had signed anything.
He hesitated.
Then he said he didn't think I had signed the final paperwork.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"You showed someone a deed for a house you knew I hadn't transferred to you?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"I thought it would be handled."
"By whom?"
He didn't answer.
I waited.
He rubbed his hands together.
"I thought you'd eventually agree."
The room became very quiet.
There it was.
Not a misunderstanding.
Not a difference in how we remembered a conversation.
He had expected me to agree eventually.
And because he expected it, he had spoken as though it had already happened.
I sat very still.
I had spent years believing that my son would never deliberately put me in a position where I had to defend my own decisions against him.
I had been wrong about that.
I didn't know whether he understood the full seriousness of what he had done.
I didn't know what he had shown Miles or what the document actually contained.
But I knew he had made plans based on permission he did not have.
"Cullen, I need you to understand that the house belongs to me."
He looked at the floor.
"I understand."
"No. I need you to understand that you cannot tell people it belongs to you when it doesn't."
He nodded, but his expression remained guarded.
I asked him to provide a copy of the document he had shown Miles.
He said he would have to discuss it with Blythe.
I repeated the request.
He became frustrated.
"Why can't you just trust me to sort this out?"
"Because you've already told someone the transfer was complete when it wasn't."
He stood up again.
I could see that he wanted the conversation to end.
I wanted it to end too.
But I wasn't willing to let him leave without hearing one final thing.
"I am not giving you the beach house because you expected me to. I will decide what happens to it, and I will make those decisions through the proper channels."
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he might argue.
Instead, he picked up his phone.
"Fine."
He walked toward the door.
I followed him into the hallway.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
"You're going to regret turning this into a fight."
I felt the words land.
I wanted to tell him that he had started the fight by making claims about something he did not own.
But I knew he would not hear me.
So I said nothing.
He opened the door and left.
I watched him walk to his car.
He didn't look back.
When the engine started, I returned to the living room.
The coffee had gone cold.
I picked up his cup and carried it to the kitchen.
Then I stood at the sink with the cup in my hand.
I had wanted my son to apologize.
Instead, I had learned that he had expected my agreement without asking for it.
That was the truth I could no longer avoid.
I washed the cup.
I dried it.
I put it back in the cupboard.
Then I called my attorney and told her what Cullen had admitted.
She listened carefully.
She asked me to write down his exact statements as best I could remember them.
I did so immediately.
I recorded that he had expected me to agree eventually.
I recorded that he had acknowledged telling Miles the transfer was complete.
I recorded that he had not confirmed whether I had signed the document.
Then I placed the notes in the folder.
I wasn't going to make a decision out of anger.
But I was going to protect my rights.
For the first time, I understood that protecting the house might also mean protecting myself from the expectations of my own family.
That was a painful thing to learn.
It was also necessary.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Miles Had Believed My Son’s Version of Events Until He Heard My Side, and His Next Question Made Me Realize How Far the Story Had Spread
My Son Wanted the Benefits of Having a Mother, but When His Wedding Day Came, I Was No Longer Good Enough to Be Seen Beside Him
Part 6 of 20
