I turned toward his mother.
“What were you about to say?”
“Nothing.”
I stared at her.
She folded her arms.
“You’ve always made my son feel like he has no say in this house.”
I looked at the woman standing inside my condo wearing my grandmother’s bathrobe.
For six years, she’d called me controlling whenever I questioned Adrian’s spending.
Now she’d apparently been present while he arranged a financial inspection without my knowledge.
I took a breath.
“Did you know about this?”
She looked away.
“I knew he was trying to improve your financial situation.”
“Our financial situation?”
She lifted her chin.
“Married people share responsibilities.”
I nodded slowly.
“Responsibilities. Not permission to sign someone else’s name.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Because suddenly I understood what frightened me most.
A lender wouldn’t ordinarily accept Adrian’s simple assertion that he owned the condo.
The deed was in my name.
