Give and give, believing you’re developing something, until you discover you’re being exploited. I offered my husband and his mother my time, money, and unconditional faith to construct a home. When they attempted to remove my home, I made sure they remembered who built it.
My name is Erin. At 32, I worked two jobs, postponed holidays, and lived with my mother-in-law for three years to establish a future with my spouse. The lady I called “Mom” for three years snatched my future away.
As I watched Lorraine bounce around her iPad spreadsheets, the early light streamed through the kitchen window.
She said, “I’ve been crunching these numbers all weekend,” with her usual authority. “The upstairs renovation will cost us much more than expected.”
The coffee cup froze halfway to my lips. “How much more?”
“Enough to postpone it forever. Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s how it must be.”
Words struck me like freezing water. “But Lorraine, Caleb, and I saved for months. We calculated everything. The second story was planned to be…
“Supposed to be?” Her eyebrows raised. “Erin, sweetheart, let’s not brag.”
I placed my cup gently. “You promised that space. We’re planning our future up there. The nursery and office…
“Oh, honey.” She stroked my hand like a puzzled toddler. “I may consider. Still, this is my home. I bought it. “I hold the deed and make the decisions.”
Our team constructed this site, Lorraine. Remember when we tiled the bathroom? Or when I painted the basement myself?”
Lorraine chuckled. Dear, painting a few walls doesn’t make you a homeowner! You gave pocket change. Not much of an investment!”
“What??”
Front door opened. I’m home! Caleb chirped. “What are my favorite girls doing?”
“Perfect timing, son!” Lorraine said. “Caleb! Your wife’s property ownership views are intriguing.”
My spouse entered with weary gray eyes. “What’s up?”
“I told Erin we won’t finish the upstairs. She appears to believe she owns it.”
“Caleb,” I replied, looking at him, “remember how we agreed to share the second floor? Your mother promised…
“I agreed to think about it,” Lorraine said. I decided it’s impractical. What if family comes? Where would they stay?
“They can stay in hotels.”
A hotel? You want me to reject my family?
Standing slowly, I continued, “I want you to honor our agreement.” “The one where you said we get the second floor.”
“Agreement?” She chuckled. “Show me the paperwork, dear. Where did I sign anything?”
I knew Caleb avoided confrontation by running his fingers through his hair. We may consider taking things slowly. The upstairs can wait. Are we comfy downstairs?
Heart plummeted. “Comfortable? Since you gave our bedroom to your mother for sewing, we’ve been sleeping on a pullout sofa for six months.
Come on, Erin. This is temporary.”
“Is it? It feels permanent. Similar to garage storage. I thought my kitchen plans were “too modern.”
Lorraine rose, chair scratching. I will not be insulted at home. Will Caleb allow his wife speak to me like this?
Caleb responded, “Nobody’s disrespecting anyone,” averting my eyes. “Erin, you’re dramatic.”
“Dramatic? How could you? Every weekend and every cent of my money have gone into building this property for three years. Now I’m dramatic for expecting what was promised?
“This is my house,” Lorraine said. I determine what happens here. If you don’t like it, move.”
Deafening silence ensued. The hallway grandfather clock appeared to pause its breath.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Fine.”
“Good!” Lorraine snapped.
But I planned.
I stared at the manila envelope in my hands in my vehicle outside the county courtroom the following morning. Every receipt, bank transfer, and canceled check I wrote for the home in three years was there.
I spent all night organizing.
“Where are you?” Caleb phoned. “Mom made breakfast.”
I saw a young couple walk the courtroom stairs with linked fingers that were untouchable.
“Handling something. Will return later.”
I didn’t state my location. It wasn’t necessary. Caleb would realize it shortly.
A week passed.
Seven days later, I returned with two bags of groceries and a steady heart. Lorraine stood at the front door like she’d been waiting all morning, her eyes wild and cheeks crimson with fury.
You little rascal, what did you do? She screamed, brandishing a crumpled letter. “You liened my house?”
With shopping bags hanging from my wrists, I discreetly closed the door. “Correction. Our home! Indeed, I did.”
“You deceitful little… How dare you?
Dropping the luggage, I took a large folder. “You want to go this way? All receipts, invoices, and checks for your bathroom remodeling are with me.
Caleb entered then. Why all the yelling?
Lorraine spat, “Your wife has lost her mind! Trying to take my home!”
“Protecting my investment! worth $67,000.”
“Erin,” Caleb sighed, “maybe we should all cool down.”
“No! Three years of coolness. Every time your mother suggested bedroom curtains, I bit my tongue. I overlooked that she maintained the deed despite our contributions. She wants to cancel our nursery plans?
“It’s my property,” Lorraine fumed. “I can’t let you carve it.”
You’re correct. I’ve obtained my legal claim. You may purchase my investment or sell and divide the profits.”
“Don’t dare!”
Try me! I contacted an attorney. When you submit 87 pages of receipts, judges are quite sympathetic.”
Caleb massaged his temples. “She’s not bluffing, Mom. Perhaps we should…
“You’re supporting her?”
I favor facts. I’m sick of the drama.”
***
Lorraine returned a week later with shady investor Greg. He was her cousin’s kid and offered 30 cents for my part.
“Given the circumstances,” Greg continued, “I’m prepared to offer a quick cash deal.”
“30 cents?” I regarded Lorraine. This is your solution? Has your relative undercut me?
«Now wait…» Greg began.
“No, wait.” I grabbed my phone. Hi, Mr. Wills? It’s Erin. My mother-in-law sold my stake. Someone close to her is offering a fraction of market value. I thought you’d be interested in this coincidence.”
Is that? Oh my goodness… Is Mr. Wills from…?”
“The IRS,” I said, looking at Lorraine.
Greg made it halfway to the door. “No, God. I won’t commit fraud.”
“Fraud?” Lorraine broke her speech, looking between us.
“Trying to avoid legal proceedings by selling below market value to a related party? That’s fraud,” I remarked calmly, settling into the armchair opposite from her.
She blinked, dumbfounded.
“And before you come up with another clever little plan,” I said, “Caleb and I already remortgaged our investment under a shared LLC. Legally bound. We share names, not just mine or his.
Lorraine tried again, but her words fell flat.
“Also? I examined your money. Remember how you disclosed Caleb’s first donations as ‘gifts’? We provided you money to construct this mansion, but you avoided taxes.”
She became silent, like someone paused her lips but forgot to muffle her remorse.
Lorraine, I’ve been courteous for three years. I kept my cool when you interrupted me or informed your friends I was ‘Caleb’s wife, not a co-owner.’ So I’m done swallowing.”
She stood frozen.
The home sold 40% over market value two months later. From the vacant rooms, I saw new owners and their realtor move around.
“It’s beautiful,” she replied, caressing my sanded banister. “You can tell it was built with love.”
“It was,” I whispered.
Caleb came alongside me. “I can’t believe it ended.”
“It need not be. We could start again. New home, new rules.”
Without Mom?
“With limits. Respecting our marriage.”
She’s relocating across town to a little area. The selling hurt her.”
I regret that. I’m glad I stuck up for myself.”
I took an envelope from my handbag. My portion of the income. This is enough for our home down payment.”
He examined the envelope. “What are you saying?”
“You decide. Use this money to support your mother or start a life with me. You cannot do both.”
“Not fair.”
Life is unfair, Caleb. What we make of it.” I approached the door. Attending my downtown apartment rental. If you want to be my spouse, find me.”
Two days later, Caleb sent bags and roses at my home.
“I choose you,” he said. “I should’ve picked you early.”
“And your mom?”
We had lengthy discussions. I advised her to respect our marriage if she wanted to remain with us. No more manipulation.”
How did she react?
About as expected. But she’s in therapy.” He gave me flowers.
I took flowers. “And you? Are you sorry?
“Sorry it took me so long to realize what I was doing to you. I regret not supporting you when you needed me.”
I placed the flowers in a vase and stated, “Fear can make us do stupid things.” “But it doesn’t define us.”
I want everything with Erin. A house, family, and future where we decide together.”
“You’re here now,” I said. “That matters.”
As we sat in the early light, I thought of the fruit box I gave Lorraine the week before. The modest card read: “Thank you for teaching me that sometimes you have to fight for what you love!”
The best retribution isn’t always devastation. A magnificent thing is being made from ashes. Occasionally, the person you’re fighting for learns to fight with you.