CHAP 3 — My Condition
Lorraine came into the garage wearing a silk robe and fury.
She looked at me lying on cardboard boxes and did not flinch.
That told me everything.
A decent woman would have been ashamed.
Lorraine looked satisfied.
“What is this nonsense about title?” she snapped.
I sat up slowly.
“This nonsense is simple. If Eric wants me out of the house during your visit, he signs the house fully into my name first.”
Eric whispered, “Claire—”
Yes, my name is Claire Whitman.
Not “honey.”
Not “your wife.”
Not “that woman.”
Claire.
Lorraine laughed.
“You think you can steal my son’s house?”
I stood.
The garage concrete was cold beneath my bare feet.
“Your son’s house has been paid for by my salary since the second year of our marriage. Your down payment was a gift. You signed the lender letter yourself.”
Her face tightened.
“That was paperwork.”
“No. It was law.”
Eric looked between us.
“Can we not do this right now?”
“No,” I said. “We do it now.”
Lorraine turned on him.
“Do not let her bully you.”
That almost made me laugh.
I was standing in a garage because his mother had banished me from my own kitchen, and somehow I was the bully.
Eric rubbed both hands over his face.
“What exactly do you want?”
“A deed transfer. Full title to me. Not joint. Not symbolic. Complete.”
“That’s insane.”
“So is asking your wife to sleep beside a toolbox so your mother can pretend she’s your first lady.”
Lorraine pointed at me.
“She is manipulating you. She will take everything.”
I looked directly at Eric.
“No, Lorraine. I am asking for legal protection equal to the humiliation you are demanding.”
Eric swallowed.
“If I sign, you’ll stay in the garage for the week?”
“Yes.”
Lorraine’s expression changed.
She expected me to refuse the garage on principle. She did not expect me to turn the insult into a transaction.
“A week?” she said. “You should be grateful we allow that much.”
I smiled.
“Then you should have no problem paying my price.”
She pulled Eric aside, but not far enough.
I heard every word.
“Sign it,” she hissed. “She won’t know what to do with it. We can fix paperwork later. Once I’m settled, we’ll make her regret this attitude.”
Eric whispered, “Mom, it’s the house.”
“It is your house. She’s bluffing.”
I was not bluffing.
At 7:30 the next morning, my attorney, Grace Hollis, arrived with a mobile notary.
At 7:42, a locksmith arrived.
At 7:46, Lorraine came downstairs in pearls, saw the strangers in the living room, and stopped cold.
“What is this?”
I stepped out of the garage wearing jeans, a white sweater, and no trace of tears.
“This is my condition.”
Eric stood near the fireplace, pale and sweating.
Grace placed the deed on the coffee table.
“Eric Whitman, this transfers your interest in the property to Claire Whitman as her separate property. I advise you to seek independent counsel before signing.”
Lorraine barked, “He doesn’t need counsel.”
Grace looked at her.
“Ma’am, you are not a party to this transaction.”
Lorraine’s mouth snapped shut.
Eric looked at me.
“Claire, are you really going to make me do this?”
I looked toward the garage.
“You already made me sleep on cardboard.”
May you like
He picked up the pen.
His hand shook when he signed.
