Days before the lunch that was not a lunch, she had sensed what was coming — had felt the shape of her son’s intentions in the papers he brought to her house and the questions he asked and the story about her forgetfulness that she knew was not true — and she had done the one quiet, brilliant thing a person in her position could do.

She had removed the deed to her home from wherever it was kept, and hidden it, and then she had waited, and watched, to see whether her own son would search her house for it.

It was a test.

She had set a trap for her child, baited with the one document that would reveal his intentions, because she loved him enough to hope she was wrong and knew him well enough to prepare for being right.

And she had been right.