Pulled out a navy-blue folder.
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about today,” I said calmly.
“Who pays…”
“And who owns.”
Patricia let out a sharp laugh.
“Oh please, not your paperwork again. This is a birthday, not a board meeting.”
I placed the folder on the table.
Still closed.
The tension thickened.
Glasses paused mid-air.
Children lowered their voices.
I let the silence stretch.
And in that moment…
My mind snapped back to three weeks earlier.
It was the first time I saw Emily cry in front of me.
We were in the kitchen.
I had stopped by with groceries.
Patricia was yelling from the hallway—something about the washing machine being “ruined” because of how Emily folded clothes.
When she stepped outside to smoke…
Emily broke down.
“I can’t do this anymore, Cathy,” she sobbed.
“She says you bought this house to control us. That if we don’t do what you want… you’ll take it away.”
“And that she’s the one who knows how to run a family.”
That sentence hit me hard.
Not because of what it said—
But because for the first time, I saw fear in Emily’s eyes… when she talked about me.
Patricia wasn’t just invading their home.
She was rewriting everyone’s role in this family.
That same afternoon, I called my lawyer.