he was my son. The deed had never changed hands.
I stepped under the porch light.
“Claire,” I said calmly, “put the children in my car.”
Daniel laughed. “You’re not taking sides.”
“I’m not.”
That confused him.
I reached into my handbag, took out my phone, and photographed Vanessa standing in Claire’s robe, Daniel beside her, and Claire’s luggage sitting in the mud.
Daniel’s smile vanished.
“What are you doing?”
“Remembering.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “This is pathetic.”
I met her gaze. “No. Pathetic is moving into a house you think belongs to a man who doesn’t own it.”
For the first time, Daniel looked uncertain.
“Mom…”
I raised one hand.
“Not tonight.”
I took Claire and the children home with me. On the drive, Claire cried quietly in the passenger seat.
I didn’t.
I had spent thirty-two years negotiating commercial property disputes.
Claire glanced back through the rear window. “