I had stopped trying to count the hours.
Without my phone, I couldn't check the time whenever I wanted.
The changing light gave me only a rough idea of how long I had been inside.
I moved between the bed and the window, trying not to let my thoughts become trapped in the same circle as my body.
Every so often, I listened for footsteps.
Most of the time, there was nothing.
The silence made me think about the ordinary sounds of the house.
The sound of water running.
The sound of a cupboard closing.
The sound of someone walking from one room to another.
Those noises had always been part of daily life.
Now I listened for them because each one reminded me that I was not alone in the building.
Lauren was somewhere nearby.
She could open the door.
She had chosen not to.
I sat on the bed and folded my hands together.
I tried to remember the last conversation we had before she locked me inside.
I remembered her asking me to think about her proposal.
I remembered telling her that I had already considered it.
I remembered her frustration when I refused to change my answer.
Then I remembered the click of the door.
That small sound had divided the day into two parts.
Before it, I had believed we were having a difficult family conversation.
After it, I understood that I could not rely on Lauren to respect my choice simply because I explained it calmly.
I looked toward the door.
"Lauren, are you there?"
No answer.
I waited a little longer, then spoke again.
"I need my phone."
The hallway remained quiet.
I rubbed my face and stood.
My legs felt stiff from sitting.
I walked to the window and looked out again.
The property looked familiar.
I had spent years caring about the house and keeping its affairs in order.
I had never imagined that the question of who owned it would become a source of such fear.
I thought about the documents in the old office.
They were not just pieces of paper stored in a drawer.
They represented years of work and decisions.
The business documents recorded things I had built.
The contracts recorded agreements I had entered into.
The financial statements recorded what had happened with money I had earned and managed.
The property papers recorded what belonged to me.
I had kept them because I believed that a person should know where his important records were.
I had not kept them to create a mystery.
I had not kept them because I expected a fight with my daughter.
I had kept them because they mattered.
And now, as I sat in a room I could not leave, I was grateful that I had never handed them over simply to end an uncomfortable conversation.
I could not reach them at that moment.
But I knew they existed.
I knew where I had kept them.
And I knew that Lauren's desire to possess them did not change their meaning.
I returned to the bed.
I wondered whether she was waiting for me to call out that I had changed my mind.
Perhaps she believed that if she kept the door closed long enough, I would begin to think that any agreement was better than remaining trapped.
I could understand why a person might become desperate for relief.
I was already tired enough to want the situation to end.
But I could not let that exhaustion make a decision about the rest of my life.
If I agreed now, I would be agreeing because I was afraid.
I would not be choosing freely.
That mattered.
I had spent too much of my life trying to make careful decisions to abandon that principle when it became difficult.
I stood and approached the door.
"Lauren, I need you to listen to me."
A moment passed.
Then I heard her voice.
"I'm listening."
"I want to leave this room."
"We need to resolve the house first."
"No. We can discuss the house after you open the door."
She said I was avoiding the issue.
I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me.
"The issue is that you have locked me in here. That needs to stop."
She went quiet.
I waited for her to answer.
When she finally spoke, she sounded irritated.
"You are making me feel like a terrible person."
I felt a sharp sadness in my chest.
I had not wanted to make her feel anything.
I had wanted her to open the door.
"I'm telling you what has happened," I said. "I'm not trying to insult you."
She said I was refusing to see her side.
I told her I had heard her side many times.
I had heard that she wanted the house.
I had heard that she wanted the documents.
I had heard that she believed I should trust her.
I had not heard a reason that made me willing to surrender ownership.
And even if I had, keeping me locked inside would not have been an acceptable way to discuss it.
She did not respond.
I heard her move away from the door.
I waited until the sound disappeared.
Then I sat down again.
I felt the urge to call after her.
I wanted to ask her to come back.
I wanted to find a way to make her see that she could stop this without losing anything she already had.
But I could not make that choice for her.
She was responsible for opening the door.
I was responsible for holding on to my own decision.
Those responsibilities were separate.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
I thought about how I would explain the situation once I could reach someone.
I would tell the truth.
I would explain that Lauren had asked me to transfer the house and hand over my original records.
I would explain that I had refused.
I would explain that she had locked me in my room and would not let me leave.
I would not need to exaggerate.
I would not need to guess why she had done it.
I would simply describe what had happened.
The thought steadied me.
I didn't need to solve every part of the conflict before I could seek help.
I needed to get out and tell someone.
I opened my eyes and looked at the door.
It was still shut.
I stood and tried the handle once more.
Nothing changed.
I let go.
I was still frightened, and I still wanted to be free.
But I no longer believed that surrendering the house was the price I had to pay to make those feelings stop.
I could wait for an opportunity.
I could reach help when I was able.
And I could keep my answer unchanged.
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: I Held On to the Truth About My House and Its Records, Knowing That No Amount of Pressure Could Make Them Belong to Someone Else
I Thought My Daughter Wanted the House Until I Realized She Needed Something I Had Never Agreed to Give Her
Part 19 of 20
