Then Andy added, “Not until last night.”
Rebecca looked up.
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed.
“After Mom said she was calling the police, Carly told me I’d better fix it.”
“I heard that,” I said.
Rebecca glanced at me.
“Anything else?”
Andy was silent for so long I thought he would say no.
Then he reached for his phone.
“There’s something I didn’t show Mom.”
My stomach tightened.
He opened a message thread.
“Carly sent these last week.”
He handed the phone to Rebecca.
She read.
Her face remained neutral.
Then she passed it to me.
I looked down.
Carly:
I am done living like a guest in that mausoleum.
Andy:
Then let’s leave.
Carly:
And go where? You destroyed our finances by refusing to think bigger.
Andy:
They’re our finances.
Carly:
Then act like a husband and solve the problem.
Andy:
My mother’s house is not our solution.
Carly:
It will be eventually.
Andy:
What does that mean?
Carly:
It means she’s seventy and sitting on a house worth more money than she needs.
My chest tightened.
The next messages were worse.
Andy:
Stop talking about my mother like that.
Carly:
Then stop making me say ugly things.
Andy:
I’m not asking her to sell.
Carly:
You will.
Andy:
No.
Carly:
Then maybe she needs to understand she isn’t as independent as she thinks.
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Andy looked miserable.
“I asked her.”
“And?”
“She said people our age sometimes have to make decisions for parents who aren’t thinking clearly.”
The room became very still.
Rebecca took the phone.
“Did Carly ever ask you to seek guardianship?”
“No.”
“Power of attorney?”
“No.”
“Have your mother declared incompetent?”
“No. Never directly.”
That distinction mattered.
Rebecca nodded.
“Good. We don’t turn implications into facts.”
I felt an unexpected rush of gratitude.
That was exactly what I needed.
Not someone to feed my anger.
Someone to keep it disciplined.
“But,” Rebecca continued, “combined with her attorney raising Ellena’s ‘judgment and emotional stability’ less than twenty-four hours after the assault, we document this.”
Andy covered his face.
“Oh God.”
I watched him.
“What?”
“I told her.”
“Told her what?”
“About your doctor.”
I frowned.
“What about my doctor?”
“Last year. You had that dizziness.”
I remembered.
A minor inner-ear problem.
Two unpleasant weeks and then it resolved.
“Carly asked why you weren’t driving.”
“And?”
“I told her you were dizzy and the doctor wanted you to avoid driving for a few days.”
He looked sick.
“I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“What if she uses it?”
Rebecca answered.
“Then we respond with facts.”
There it was again.
Facts.
Not fear.
We spent another two hours reconstructing the last year.
It was unpleasant.
Humiliating.
Necessary.
Patterns appeared.
Carly began making comments about my memory shortly after moving in.
She repeatedly suggested I was “too isolated” in the house.
She asked questions about taxes and property insurance.
She joked that Andy would eventually inherit everything anyway.
She pushed him to discuss downsizing with me.
When he refused, arguments intensified.
Then there were the smaller things.
The kitchen.
My mail.
Twice I’d found envelopes placed in different stacks.
Once Carly had told me I’d already paid a bill when I knew I hadn’t.
At the time, I assumed she was trying to be helpful.
I stopped Rebecca.
“I need to be careful.”
“About?”
“I don’t want ordinary annoyances transformed into conspiracy because I’m angry.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Good.”
“I have no evidence Carly interfered with my mail intentionally.”
“Then we don’t say she did.”
“No evidence she planned legal action before the assault.”
“Then we don’t say she did.”
“No evidence she intended the glass to cause serious injury.”
“Correct.”
I looked at Andy.
“But we do have evidence that she repeatedly pressured you regarding my house.”
“Yes.”
“Evidence she threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“Evidence she used violence against you.”
He hesitated.
Rebecca corrected gently.
“We have evidence consistent with that. Messages and photographs. Whether something rises to proof in a legal proceeding is another question.”
Andy nodded.
Something about that careful language steadied him.
For years he had lived in Carly’s version of reality, where emotions changed facts.
Now he was being taught the opposite.
Facts remained facts even when feelings were complicated.
Before we left, Rebecca gave him the name of a counselor who worked with male survivors of domestic abuse.
Andy stared at the card.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“You don’t have to be ready,” Rebecca said. “You only have to decide whether staying exactly where you are is working.”
On the drive home, he held the card the entire way.
That evening, Carly began calling him.
The first call came at 6:04.
Andy watched the phone vibrate.
He didn’t answer.
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