The Settlement
After my husband died, his mother walked into my kitchen and said she was taking the house, the law firm, all of it—except the daughter. My attorney begged me to fight. I said, “Let them have everything.” At the final hearing, I signed the papers. She was smiling until her lawyer turned white.
My name is Miriam Fredel. I’m thirty-one years old, and until recently I lived in Covington, Kentucky—a small city across the Ohio River from Cincinnati, the kind of place where people wave from their driveways and somehow always know what you paid for your house.
Continue on the next page:
