“You announced my home as your retirement property before asking me.”
“We expected you to understand after the wedding.”
My mother gave a small nod.
“There it is.”
Eleanor turned on her.
“There is what?”
“The reason I moved the apartment.”
Jason looked at me again.
“You knew about this?”
I almost laughed.
He sounded betrayed.
Three months earlier, I had sat beside my mother in a Midtown office and signed my name while guilt pressed against my ribs.
I had worried that keeping the transfer from Jason made me dishonest.
Now he stood at our wedding reception demanding an explanation after helping his mother plan the removal of my home.
“Yes,” I said.
“I signed it.”
“You transferred a two-million-dollar apartment without telling me?”
“You planned to give it to your mother without telling me.”
“That is not what happened.”
“Then explain what happened.”
He looked toward the cameras.
Several guests were still recording, though no one pretended they were capturing wedding memories anymore.
Jason lowered his voice.
“Can we speak privately?”
“No.”
“Sophia.”
“You let your mother humiliate me publicly.
You can explain yourself publicly.”
His expression hardened.
“I was going to talk to you after the honeymoon.”
“About moving out of my own apartment?”
“About helping my mother.”
“She has a house.”
“It is older.
It needs work.”
“So you decided she deserved mine.”
“I thought you would care about her comfort.”
The cruelty of that sentence was almost elegant.
He had taken his entitlement and wrapped it in an accusation against my character.
If I resisted, I was selfish.
If I objected, I was emotional.
If I protected what I had built, I did not care about family.
My mother had understood the trap before I did.
Eleanor stepped toward the deed.
“This transfer can be reversed.”
My mother placed her palm over the document.
“Not by you.”
“You cannot interfere in a marriage like this.”
“I did not interfere in their marriage.
I interfered with your plan to take my daughter’s property.”
Eleanor’s voice sharpened.
“You have no proof that anyone intended to take anything.”
My mother looked at me, not at her.
“Ask Jason why he told you not to make a scene.”
I turned toward him.
He said nothing.
