My Son Struck Me Thirty Times at His Birthday Dinner. The Next Morning, I Sold the Mansion He Thought He Owned.
“So that’s it?
You sell my home, and now you lecture me from behind a gate?”
“I sold my property after you assaulted me.”
His jaw tightened.
“And there he is,” I said quietly.
“What?”
“The man from last night.”
He looked down, breathing hard.