PART 3
“Ms. Farrow,” I whispered, “are you certain?”
“I’m looking at the recorded instrument right now. I can send you a certified copy.”
“Please do.”
“I also recommend that you don’t sign anything your family brings you Sunday.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“And don’t allow anyone to pressure you into signing a quitclaim deed.”
The words landed heavily.
“A quitclaim deed.”
“That’s what your brother filed an application for. Your mother is listed as grantor, and your brother and his wife are listed as the new grantees.”
“But my mother isn’t the only owner.”
“Correct.”
“And I never agreed to transfer my interest.”
“Then they cannot simply transfer yours.”
I looked through the office window toward the parking lot.
Cars moved past.
People carried coffee.
Somebody laughed near the reception desk.
The world continued as though mine hadn’t just tilted on its axis.
“Why would my mother do this?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“And the mortgage?”
“That’s another issue. The mortgage and the deed are separate documents. Whoever is obligated on the loan and whoever owns the property are not necessarily the same people.”
I swallowed.
“So I’ve been paying a mortgage on a house that legally belongs to me and my daughter?”
“That’s what the recorded deed appears to show.”
“And my mother knew?”
“Your mother signed the original closing documents.”
I stared at the floor.
Then something even colder occurred to me.
“If my mother knew my name was on the deed, why has she spent nine years telling everyone this is her house?”
Ms. Farrow was quiet.
“I think that’s a question you should ask her.”
The call ended shortly afterward.
I remained in the hallway for several minutes.
Then my phone buzzed.
An email.
Subject: Recorded Deed — Larkin Street Property
I opened the attachment.
The first page was filled with legal language.
Then I saw it.
GRANTEE: MICHELLE DUNN
Below it:
GRANTEE: EMILY DUNN, minor child
My daughter’s name.
Her name had been there since she was seven.
I kept scrolling.
The signatures appeared near the bottom.
My mother’s signature.
The closing attorney’s signature.
And mine.
My signature was shaky.
I remembered that day.
I remembered crying.
I remembered my divorce.
I remembered my mother holding my hand.
“Don’t worry, Michelle. I’m doing this for all of us.”
I had thought she meant putting the house in her name because my credit was damaged.
But apparently, she had done something very different.
I printed the deed.
Then I printed every mortgage statement I had saved.
