“Yes. I’m making the payments.”
“And they’re currently in possession of it?”
“Yes.”
“They have fourteen days to return it, or it’s technically theft. I’d recommend sending them a formal notice today—certified mail—demanding return of the vehicle within fourteen days. If they don’t comply, we report it stolen and let the police handle it.”
The thought of my parents being arrested over a car made me feel sick. But Jennifer was right. It was my car, my loan, my legal responsibility.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll draft the letter today and send it over for your approval. In the meantime, document everything. Screenshot every text. Save every voicemail. If they show up at your apartment, call the police immediately. Don’t open the door, don’t engage. Just call 911.”
“This feels so extreme.”
“Sarah,” Jennifer’s voice softened. “I’ve been practicing family law for eight years. I’ve seen this pattern before—parents who feel entitled to their adult children’s money, who lash out when boundaries are set, who escalate when they realize they’re losing control. It almost always gets worse before it gets better. I’d rather you be overprepared than under-protected.”
After we hung up, I sat at the kitchen table feeling numb. How had my life gotten to the point where I needed a lawyer to protect me from my own parents?
Marcus came home for lunch—he’d started doing that recently, checking on me during his break. He found me surrounded by printed emails and screenshots, organizing evidence into folders.
“Hey,” he said gently. “How’d the call with Jennifer go?”
“She’s drafting a cease and desist. She thinks they might escalate.”
“And the car?”
“Fourteen days to return it or we report it stolen.”
Marcus pulled out a chair and sat beside me. “You know they’re not going to return it willingly, right?”
