Chapter 3 - The Flying Monkeys
By Saturday afternoon, the living room was a sea of cardboard boxes. We had secured a short-term lease on a modest apartment across town. It was smaller, and the neighborhood wasn't gated, but it felt like a fortress of peace.
That was when the flying monkeys descended.
Chloe’s husband, Greg—a corporate lawyer who usually treated family gatherings like a tedious networking event—showed up at our front door.
I opened it just a crack. "What do you want, Greg?"
He sighed, adjusting his tailored tie. "Michael, let's be rational. Helen is a wreck. Chloe is a wreck. You're making a massive mistake walking away from the house. Helen wants to forgive the mortgage debt if you just bring Sarah over for a sit-down mediation."
"A mediation?" I laughed bitterly. "Where she blames Sarah for making her hand slip?"
"Look, Helen is willing to overlook the disrespect," Greg said smoothly, slipping into lawyer mode. "But if you walk away, Helen is prepared to sue you for the remaining balance of the mortgage. You're financially bound to her, Mike. Don't ruin your life over pride."
"My lawyer reviewed the deed, Greg," I replied, crossing my arms. "Mom’s name is the primary on the loan. We are just occupants. If we walk, it's her credit that tanks if she can't make the payments. Tell Chloe her inheritance is about to take a massive hit."
May you like
Greg’s smug expression faltered. He didn't know that detail.
"Now," I said, leaning into the doorframe. "If you ever come to my house to threaten my family on behalf of my abuser again, I will report you to the state bar for harassment. Get off my porch."
