Jake stared at her for a long moment.
“The point is that I know what you’re planning to do next week.”
Sarah’s face turned white.
I demanded an explanation.
Jake told me that a few weeks earlier, Linda had accidentally learned about my children’s plan.
They intended to go to court and claim that I was no longer capable of managing my own life and property.
Their plan had begun before Jake ever moved into my home.
They had been gathering information about my age, forgetfulness, and the fact that I lived alone.
And when Jake appeared, they decided to use his presence as additional evidence that I was vulnerable and unable to make sound decisions.
I slowly lowered myself onto the sofa.
Suddenly, I understood why David kept saying that a woman my age couldn’t possibly have a relationship with such a young man.
He wasn’t simply embarrassed.
He was preparing to use that relationship against me.
“But why did you pretend to be in love with me?” I asked Jake.
He lowered his eyes.
“Because my mother was afraid that if I told you the truth immediately, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“So you lied to me?”
“Yes. And I’m sorry.”
Those words hurt more than Sarah’s threats.
For two months, I had believed that someone finally saw me as a woman again, rather than simply an elderly mother or grandmother.
Now I was discovering that even those feelings had been part of a hidden plan.
“Did you just feel sorry for me?” I asked.
Jake raised his head.
“No. I genuinely grew attached to you. You reminded me of the woman my mother always described, the woman who cared about her every day. But I should never have made you promises of love. That was wrong.”
Then he explained the phone conversation.
That night, he had been speaking with his mother and an attorney. He had told them that I still didn’t know about my children’s plans and that their court petition might be filed within a few days.
And his warning that everyone would have a problem referred to the family argument that had happened shortly before Robert’s death.
Jake believed I might remember something about that night.
And suddenly, I did.
A few weeks before he died, Robert had sat beside my bed and said,
“Margaret, promise me you’ll never let our children decide where you’re going to live.”
