…you’ve been trying to buy for your retirement.”
I recognized the address immediately. A little yellow cottage by the lake. I’d made an offer on it in the spring and lost it to a cash buyer at the last minute. I’d cried for a week.
The cash buyer was my son, Kyle. The “rent” I’d been paying him for eight months had gone toward the down payment.
I drove to the cottage. Kyle was in the yard, building a fire pit. He saw me and dropped his shovel.
“I knew you wanted it,” he said. “I thought I’d fix it up and surprise you eventually.”
“With my money,” I said. “While telling me you were being evicted. While your wife books cruises.”
I asked my lawyer what I could do. He explained that Kyle had obtained the money under false pretenses, which gave me strong grounds for a lawsuit. Kyle didn’t want that. Neither did I.
So we made an agreement. Kyle signed the cottage over to me. I paid off the rest of his mortgage on it from my savings, which cost me less than the original asking price. He and his wife moved into a rental of their own. They didn’t go on the cruise.
I live in the yellow cottage now. Kyle finished the fire pit. On summer evenings, he brings the grandchildren over to roast marshmallows. He says it’s the nicest house he never owned.
