My grandson called me from the police station at 2:47 a.m., choking back tears: “Grandma, my stepmother says I made her fall and Dad believes every word she says, he doesn’t believe me,” but when I arrived the officer saw me, froze, went pale and whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who you were,” and from that moment my family was forced to face the truth.

“Giving in in what sense exactly?” she asked.

“The house,” I said. “I know Rob will eventually inherit it, but I’ve been sick lately. My heart isn’t well. The doctors say it could be a matter of months, maybe a year. I don’t want to die knowing I left a legal problem for my son.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she said, the sarcasm in her voice evident. “What are you suggesting?”

“I am willing to sign documents transferring the property to Rob’s name now. But with one condition: that you leave Ethan alone. That you drop the charges. That you allow him to live with me for the rest of my life.”

Another silence. I could hear voices in the background. Chelsea was consulting with someone—probably Gerald.

“When do you want to do this?” she asked.

“Tomorrow. 3:00 p.m. At my house. Bring your lawyer if you want. I want everything to be legal and final.”

“Why the sudden change of heart, Elellanena?”

“Because I’m tired. Because I no longer have the strength to fight. And because at the end of the day, my son chose—and he didn’t choose me.”

Those last words hurt to say because they were true.

“Tomorrow at three, then,” Chelsea said. “And I hope you’re not playing games with me, old lady. Because if you are, I promise you’ll regret it.”

“I’m not playing games. I just want peace.”

She hung up.

I was left staring at the phone, my heart pounding furiously. Linda placed a hand on my shoulder.

“You did very well, Commander. You sounded convincing.”

“It’s because part of it is true,” I admitted. “I am tired. And Rob did choose her over me. But we are not going to let her win.”

“No,” Linda said. “We are going to make sure she loses everything.”

We spent the rest of the day going over every detail of the plan. Where I would sit. Where they would sit. What questions to ask to make them talk. How to subtly provoke them so they felt secure.

That night, before sleeping, I went into Ethan’s room. He was lying down, looking at the ceiling.

“Nervous, Grandma?” he asked.

“A little,” I said. “But more than nervous, I’m angry. And that anger is what’s going to give me strength tomorrow.”

“What if something goes wrong?”