Part of me expected her to fight it, to hire her own attorney. To drag the whole thing into a bitter legal battle that would stretch across years. And cost more than the fifteen percent was even worth.
I braced myself every time the phone rang during those three weeks, half expecting to hear Priya’s voice explaining that Deloris had lawyered up. That things were about to get complicated. And expensive and ugly in ways none of us wanted for our children to witness. Caleb worried about it too, though he tried not to show it. Checking the mailbox each day like something ominous might arrive without warning. Neither of us said the word “war” out loud during those weeks. Though I think we were both quietly bracing for exactly that.
Instead, three weeks later, Priya called with news I hadn’t fully let myself hope for.
I was folding laundry when the phone rang. And something in Priya’s voice told me before she even said a word. That this call was different from our usual brief check-ins. “She’s agreed to sign a quitclaim deed,” Priya said. “No conditions. No demands. She’s relinquishing her full interest in the property.”
I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, laundry forgotten. Trying to process news I’d braced myself against expecting for weeks.
