That was when my fear turned into anger.
I was sixty-two.
I had managed a household for decades.
Worked in a library for twenty-nine years.
Balanced budgets.
Cared for a dying husband.
Handled insurance appeals, medication schedules, tax documents, medical billing disputes, and enough administrative paperwork to fill a small warehouse.
But apparently, because I wore cardigans and baked apple pies, I was incapable of understanding a real-estate agreement.
Eleanor was furious.
“They are trying to characterize your refusal as confusion.”
I folded my arms.
“Then let’s make it very clear.”
We prepared a detailed response.
I supplied financial records, property correspondence, and a written statement explaining my decision.
I also agreed to an independent capacity evaluation arranged through counsel, not because I accepted Richard’s insinuation, but because I wanted to remove the issue from the dispute.
The evaluation found no basis for questioning my ability to manage my affairs.
