I asked Lauren to sit down.
We went into the living room, and I took the chair near the window.
She sat opposite me with her handbag on her lap.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said she was tired of the way things had been between us.
I told her I was tired, too.
She said every visit seemed to end in an argument.
I reminded her that I hadn't been the one bringing up the property every time.
She looked away.
"I know you don't see it that way."
"Then tell me how you see it."
She adjusted the strap of her handbag.
She said she was trying to prevent problems before they happened.
I asked what problems.
She said she couldn't explain everything in a way I would accept.
I felt the familiar frustration rise inside me.
"You keep saying that, Lauren."
"Because it's true."
"How can I understand something you refuse to explain?"
She didn't answer.
I waited.
The clock ticked above the doorway.
Finally, she said that she wanted me to let her take responsibility for the house.
I shook my head.
"We've already settled that."
"No, we haven't."
"I've told you my answer."
"And I've told you why I disagree."
I leaned forward.
"Disagreeing with me doesn't give you the right to make the decision for me."
She looked at me sharply.
"I never said it did."
"Then stop asking me to hand it over."
She stood and walked toward the window.
I watched her look out at the yard.
For a moment, she seemed to be considering something.
Then she turned back.
"You don't understand what happens when someone refuses to plan ahead."
"I have planned ahead."
"You think a few papers solve everything?"
I felt my anger rise.
Those papers represented years of work.
They represented contracts I had honored, money I had earned, and property I had purchased.
They were not magic.
But they mattered.
"They establish what I own," I said. "And I'm not giving them up."
She stared at me.
"I didn't ask you to give them up."
"You keep asking to see them. You keep asking to take over the property. What am I supposed to think?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
I waited for an answer.
None came.
She picked up her handbag.
I thought she was leaving.
Instead, she walked toward the hallway.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"I need a moment."
"You can have a moment here."
She continued walking.
I stood and followed her.
She stopped near the office.
I felt an immediate tightening in my chest.
"Lauren, don't go in there."
She turned toward me.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you going through my records."
"I'm not going through anything."
"Then stay out of the office."
She looked at me for a long moment.
I could see the anger in her face.
Then she stepped away from the doorway.
"Fine."
I stood still until she returned to the living room.
She put her handbag on the chair.
For several minutes, she said nothing.
Then she asked whether I had ever considered that I might be wrong about her intentions.
I told her I was willing to consider that.
I also told her that she had to give me a reason to trust her decisions.
She said she was my daughter.
I answered that I knew exactly who she was.
That was why the situation hurt so much.
She looked down.
I wondered whether she understood what I meant.
I wanted to tell her that I wasn't trying to punish her.
I wanted to explain that keeping the house wasn't a rejection of her.
But I had explained those things before.
I was beginning to believe that she heard only the part of my answer she disliked.
After a while, she picked up her handbag again.
"I'm leaving."
I didn't stop her.
We walked toward the front door.
She opened it and stepped outside.
Then she turned back.
"You've made your choice."
"Yes," I said.
She looked at me for a moment.
Then she walked away.
I closed the door and leaned against it.
I felt exhausted.
The argument had not been especially loud.
No one had shouted.
Nothing had been thrown or broken.
Yet I felt as though I had spent hours defending myself.
I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water.
I drank it standing beside the sink.
Then I returned to the office.
I wanted to check the documents.
I stopped myself.
I had checked them the previous day.
There was no reason to keep doing it.
Instead, I sat at my desk and reviewed the work I had left unfinished.
For nearly an hour, I managed to concentrate.
Then I heard a sound from outside.
A car door closing.
I looked toward the window.
I couldn't see who was outside.
I waited.
A few moments later, I heard footsteps near the entrance.
Then came a knock.
I frowned.
I wasn't expecting anyone.
I went to the door and looked through the window beside it.
Lauren was standing outside.
I opened the door.
She looked different from the way she had looked when she left.
Her expression was calmer.
She said she had forgotten something.
I asked what it was.
"My bag."
I stepped aside.
She came inside and walked toward the living room.
Her handbag was on the chair.
She picked it up.
I expected her to leave immediately.
Instead, she looked toward the hallway.
"Can I use the bathroom before I go?"
I hesitated.
It was a strange thing to hesitate over.
She had grown up in the house.
She had used that bathroom thousands of times.
I told myself I was being unreasonable.
"Of course."
She walked down the hallway.
I returned to the living room and waited.
I heard a door close.
Then silence.
I looked at the clock.
A minute passed.
Then another.
I called her name.
"I'm here," she replied.
Her voice came from farther down the hallway than I expected.
I stood up.
I had a sudden, uncomfortable feeling that something wasn't right.
I walked toward the hallway.
Before I reached the end, I heard another door move.
Then I heard Lauren's footsteps.
She appeared at the corner and looked at me.
"Everything all right?" I asked.
"Yes."
She held her handbag against her side.
I looked at her, trying to understand why I felt so uneasy.
She gave me a brief smile.
"I should go now."
I walked her to the front door.
She stepped outside and turned back.
"Take care of yourself, Dad."
I told her I would.
She left.
I closed the door and locked it.
For several seconds, I stood in the hallway.
I couldn't explain what had bothered me.
I had no proof she had done anything.
She had collected her bag, used the bathroom, and left.
That was all.
I went into the office and sat down.
I tried to return to my work.
But I kept remembering the way she had looked toward the hallway.
I kept remembering how long she had been away from the living room.
I didn't want suspicion to become the only way I saw my daughter.
Still, I knew I could no longer dismiss my discomfort simply because I couldn't prove its cause.
I decided to check the house before going to bed.
I walked through the rooms.
I checked the windows and the doors.
Everything seemed normal.
I went to the forgotten room and examined the lock.
It was closed.
I used the black key to open it.
The documents were there.
The property papers were safe.
I closed the door and locked it again.
Then I returned to the hallway.
I told myself I had done enough.
I couldn't spend my life checking every room after every visit.
I turned off the lights and went to bed.
That night, I slept poorly.
I woke several times and listened to the house.
Each time, everything was quiet.
By morning, I was tired and irritable.
I made coffee and sat at the kitchen table.
I wanted to believe the uneasiness would pass.
I wanted to believe that the next visit would be ordinary.
I had no idea that I was running out of time to keep believing that.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: I Had Always Believed a Locked Door Was a Simple Thing, Until the Day I Learned How Much Could Change on the Other Side of One
I Thought My Daughter Wanted the House Until I Realized She Needed Something I Had Never Agreed to Give Her
Part 10 of 20
