“You’re not. I’m coming to visit next weekend. We’ll have wine and remind ourselves that we’re magnificent women who don’t take crap from anyone. How’s that sound?”
I smiled for the first time in days.
“That sounds perfect.”
After we hung up, I felt steadier, grounded.
The phone rang again. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
“Is this Margaret Foster?”
A young woman’s voice speaking.
“Miss Foster, my name is Rachel Kim. I’m with the county mediation services. Your son, Daniel Foster, has requested family mediation regarding a property dispute. Would you be willing to participate?”
I paused. Mediation, a neutral third party. Maybe that was what we needed.
“I’ll need to discuss it with my attorney first.”
“Of course, I’ll email you the details. Just so you know, Miss Foster, mediation is voluntary, but it often helps families find solutions without going to court.”
After she hung up, I felt something shift. Maybe there was still a path forward. Or maybe it was just another trap. Either way, I wasn’t backing down.
The mediation email came Tuesday morning along with a separate message from Daniel.
“Please, Mom, let’s try this for us.”
I discussed it with Tom over lunch. He was skeptical.
“Mediation only works if both parties come in good faith. Do you trust that Jessica will?”
“No, but I trust that if she doesn’t, it’ll be documented by a neutral third party.”
Tom smiled slightly, always thinking like a consultant.
“All right, I’ll be there with you.”
The mediation was scheduled for Friday afternoon at a bland office building downtown. Rachel Kim met us in the lobby, a petite woman in her 30s with a calm, professional demeanor.
“Miss Foster, thank you for coming. Mr. Chen, good to meet you. The other party is already in the conference room.”
“Both of them?” I asked.
“Yes, Daniel and Jessica Foster.”
Tom and I exchanged glances.
“So much for just you and me, Mom.”
The conference room was aggressively neutral. Beige walls, a long table, a box of tissues strategically placed in the center.
Daniel sat on one side, looking nervous. Jessica sat beside him dressed in a soft pink blouse and pearls, her hair perfectly styled. She looked like she was going to a garden party, not a mediation.
“Margaret,” Rachel began warmly, “thank you for joining us. The purpose of today is to facilitate open communication and hopefully find a resolution that works for everyone. This is a safe space.”
“Everything said here is confidential except what my attorney and I choose to use later,” Tom said pleasantly.
Rachel’s smile tightened slightly.
“Within legal bounds?”
“Yes. Shall we begin? Daniel, you requested this mediation. Would you like to start?”
Daniel cleared his throat.
“Mom, I wanted to say in front of a witness that I’m sorry for not defending you that night, for not standing up to Jessica when she said those things. It was wrong. You deserved better.”
It sounded rehearsed, but there was genuine emotion in his voice.
Jessica squeezed his hand supportively, her face the picture of contrition.
“I’m sorry too, Margaret,” she said softly. “I was having a bad day, a bad month, really, and I took it out on you. It was completely inappropriate. I hope you can forgive me.”
I watched her carefully, the demure posture, the gentle tone, the dough eyes.
“This was a performance.”
“Thank you for the apologies,” I said neutrally. “I appreciate them.”
Rachel looked pleased.
“Wonderful. Now, regarding the property at 2,247 Maple Street—”
“I’d like to propose a solution,” Jessica interrupted gently. “If Margaret is truly the owner, as she claims, then perhaps we could formalize what was already happening. We continue making payments, real mortgage payments, and gradually buy the house from her, transfer of deed when we’ve paid, say, 70% of the value.”
It sounded almost reasonable. That was the danger.
Tom leaned forward.
“Let me clarify. You want Miss Foster to essentially give you a $680,000 house for $476,000 with no down payment, no credit check, and no legal protections for her as the lender.”
Jessica’s sweet expression didn’t waver.
“It’s her son’s family home. Surely, family is more important than money.”
“Family works both ways,” I said quietly.
“Exactly,” Jessica brightened. “Which is why I’m sure you’ll agree that kicking us out, especially with a baby on the way, would be unconscionable.”
I glanced at Daniel. He was looking at the table.
“You’re pregnant?” I asked directly, a tiny pause.
“We’re trying actively, and the stress of potentially losing our home isn’t helping.”
Rachel intervened.