CHAPTER 3 – Sunday Brunch
CHAPTER 3 – Sunday Brunch
Three days later, I rang the front doorbell of my parents' house.
The familiar chime echoed through the entryway, followed by laughter from the dining room.
The kind of laughter that came easily to people who had slept in warm beds every night.
For a moment, I stood perfectly still.
I remembered carrying moving boxes into this house after my divorce, convinced I would stay only a few weeks until I figured things out. Instead, I'd been made to feel like a burden within days.
"Maybe it would be healthier if you found somewhere else," my mother had said while refusing to meet my eyes.
At the time, I believed she was overwhelmed.
Now I wondered if she had already known I owned somewhere else.
She just hadn't intended to tell me.
I tightened my grip on Mia's little hand.
"You ready?" I whispered.
She nodded enthusiastically.
"Can I show Grandma my new bunny?"
The stuffed rabbit Grandma Edith had bought her the day we moved into the apartment was tucked securely under her arm.
"You sure can."
I opened the door without knocking again.
No one ever locked it on Sundays.
The smell of roasted chicken, fresh biscuits, and cinnamon filled the house.
My mother stood beside the kitchen island pouring coffee.
My father sat at the head of the dining table reading the newspaper.
My older brother, Daniel, scrolled through his phone while his wife, Melissa, arranged fruit on a serving platter.
Conversation stopped.
Every head turned.
My mother froze with the coffee pot halfway to the mug.
The color drained from her face.
"Rebecca?"
My father slowly lowered his newspaper.
His eyes landed on me.
Then on Mia.
Then on the small silver key hanging from the chain around my neck.
His jaw tightened.
No one said a word.
Finally my mother forced a smile that looked painful.
"Well..."
She laughed nervously.
"This is a surprise."
"It is," I agreed.
"I thought I'd stop by."
Daniel frowned.
"I didn't know you were back in town."
"I've been here the whole time."
Nobody answered.
Because they all knew exactly where I'd been.
Or rather...
where they believed I'd been.
Somewhere inconvenient.
Somewhere invisible.
My mother hurried toward us with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She leaned in for a hug.
I stepped sideways.
Her arms embraced empty air.
For the first time in my life, I watched my mother look embarrassed in her own house.
She recovered quickly.
"Come sit. We were just about to eat."
"Actually," I said calmly, "I'm not hungry."
That wasn't entirely true.
Months of stretching groceries had trained my stomach to expect very little.
But today I hadn't come for food.
I had come for answers.
Grandma Edith arrived five minutes later.
She didn't ring the bell.
She simply walked in carrying her cane and a pie from the bakery down the street.
When she entered the dining room, every conversation died again.
She looked around the table.
"Good," she said evenly.
"Everyone's here."
She placed the pie on the counter and sat beside me.
No greeting.
No small talk.
No pretending.
My father cleared his throat.
"Mother."
"Frank."
His shoulders stiffened.
"I visited Rebecca."
"I heard."
"No."
Grandma folded her hands.
"I don't think you did."
Silence settled over the room.
My mother tried to rescue the mood.
"Can we please not do this during brunch?"
Grandma smiled politely.
"Then when?"
No one answered.
She reached into her leather handbag.
Out came a thick manila envelope.
She laid it gently on the dining table.
"I brought copies."
My father's fingers tightened around his coffee mug.
"What copies?"
"The documents."
Daniel glanced between them.
"What documents?"
Grandma looked directly at my parents.
"The apartment."
Daniel frowned.
"What apartment?"
I watched my brother carefully.
His confusion looked genuine.
Either he was an excellent actor...
or he truly had no idea.
My mother laughed too loudly.
"Oh, honestly, Edith. Is this really necessary?"
"It is."
"There must be some misunderstanding."
"There isn't."
Grandma slid the first paper across the table.
The property deed.
My name sat in bold print.
Rebecca Lawson.
Owner.
Daniel leaned forward.
"Wait..."
He picked it up.
"Rebecca owns an apartment?"
No one answered.
Melissa looked equally stunned.
"I thought she was renting."
"So did I," Daniel muttered.
Grandma calmly produced another document.
Certified mail receipt.
Delivered.
Signed by...
Linda Harrison.
My mother.
Mom's smile disappeared.
Dad stared at the tabletop.
Grandma placed another receipt beside it.
And another.
And another.
Six envelopes.
Six signatures.
Every single one signed by my mother.
My brother slowly looked up.
"Mom?"
She swallowed.
"I..."
Daniel's voice sharpened.
"Why were legal documents for Rebecca signed by you?"
"They came here."
"So?"
"I was protecting her."
I almost laughed.
"Protecting me?"
Mother turned toward me desperately.
"You'd just gone through a terrible divorce."
"Yes."
"You weren't thinking clearly."
"So you decided I shouldn't know I owned a home?"
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Dad finally spoke.
"It wasn't like that."
I looked at him.
"Then tell me what it was like."
He rubbed his forehead.
"We were trying to keep everything stable."
"For whom?"
He didn't answer.
Grandma answered instead.
"For themselves."
The room fell silent again.
Then Grandma reached into the envelope one last time.
This time she removed several bank statements.
"I've been wondering about something else."
Dad looked up sharply.
"What?"
"The maintenance fees."
A flicker crossed his face.
Barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
Grandma saw it too.
"For eighteen months," she continued quietly, "someone has been withdrawing money from the property account every month."
My heartbeat quickened.
Property account?
"I funded that account so Rebecca would never have to worry about taxes, insurance, or maintenance."
She placed the statements in front of my father.
"The money is gone."
No one breathed.
Grandma's voice remained calm.
"The question is..."
She looked directly at my parents.
"...where did it go?"
My father's hand trembled for the first time.
My mother reached for his arm.
He pulled away.
Daniel slowly stood from his chair.
"Dad..."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"...what is she talking about?"
Dad closed his eyes.
May you like
And in that single moment...
I realized the apartment wasn't the only thing they had hidden from me.
