But she’s lying about me.
She’s telling people I’m having an affair.
Officer Martinez looked at her notepad.
Ma’am, are you Lennox Mitchell?
the woman who was arrested here last week for assault.
It wasn’t assault.
It was barely a tap.
You slapped Mrs. Mitchell in the face in front of multiple witnesses.
That’s assault.
I watched from my window as Lennox’s composure completely crumbled.
She fell to her knees on my porch, sobbing dramatically.
Please, she begged, looking directly at my front door.
Please, Bessie.
I have nowhere to go.
Terren kicked me out of the motel.
He’s filing for divorce.
I don’t have any money.
Please don’t do this to me.
For just a moment, I felt a twinge of sympathy.
Then I remembered the $600,000, the affair with Richard Hawthorne, the fake boutique investment, and my resolve strengthened.
Officer Johnson helped Lennox to her feet.
Ma’am, you need to find somewhere else to go.
If you come back here, you’ll be arrested for trespassing.
Where am I supposed to go?
She wailed.
I don’t have anywhere.
That’s not Mrs. Mitchell’s problem.
Officer Martinez said firmly, “You have 5 minutes to get in your car and leave or we’re taking you in.”
After the police left with Lennox, I called Terrence.
He answered on the first ring.
“Mom, I heard I’m so sorry.
I told her to stay away from you.”
Where is she staying?
I don’t know.
After I filed for divorce yesterday, I told her she had to leave the motel.
I couldn’t afford to keep paying for both of us to stay there.
And you have no idea where she went?
She mentioned maybe staying with her friend, the one with the fake boutique, but honestly, Mom, I don’t care.
I’m done being responsible for her problems.
I felt a surge of pride at hearing the strength in my son’s voice.
This was the Terren I’d raised.
The one who took responsibility for his actions and didn’t make excuses for bad behavior.
How are you managing?
I asked.
I’m staying at a weekly motel across town.
It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, and I can afford it while I figure out my next steps.
I’ve been working overtime trying to save up money to pay you back.
Terrence, you don’t have to.
Yes, I do.
Mom, I let my wife steal from you and then stood by while she assaulted you.
I need to make this right.
That afternoon, James Crawford called with an update.
Bessie, we have a problem.
Lennox has hired an attorney.
I thought she didn’t have any money.
She doesn’t.
But apparently she’s found a lawyer willing to work on contingency.
They’re claiming that your lawsuit is harassment and that you’re using the legal system to interfere in their marriage.
I felt my blood pressure rise.
That’s ridiculous.
I know it is, but we need to be prepared for a fight.
They’re also claiming that the promisory note was invalid because your family and there was no real intention to collect on the debt.
There was absolutely an intention to collect.
That’s why we made it official.
I know that and we can prove it.
But Lennox’s attorney is good at making bad cases sound reasonable.
We need to document everything.
Every interaction you’ve had with them, every payment that was missed, every attempt you made to work with them before filing suit.
Over the next week, I compiled everything I could think of.
Phone records showing how many times I’d called Terrence about missed payments, only to have Lennox answer and make excuses.
emails I’d sent asking about their financial situation, receipts showing money I’d lent them over the years for various emergencies that were never repaid.
The picture that emerged was clear.
I hadn’t been a vindictive mother-in-law trying to destroy their marriage.
