I was the rightful owner, and she had no choice but to leave. “I’m not going anywhere,” she hissed. “You are,” said one of the officers.
“You’ve got 24 hours to collect your things and vacate the premises. Any attempt to interfere will be considered criminal trespass.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but Mike stormed in before she could. “What’s going on?”
Veronica turned to him, practically shaking.
“They’re saying the house isn’t mine. That girl — she’s lying. Her dad promised this to me!”
Mike grabbed the deed and stared at it, flipping through the pages.
His face fell. “Looks real to me,” he muttered. Veronica glared at him.
“Are you kidding me? You’re taking her side?”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to jail for your tantrum.”
Eventually, they left.
She slammed the door so hard that the frame shook. I stood in the hallway for a long time, just breathing in the silence. The house was finally mine — not because I fought harder, but because someone had loved me enough to prepare for the battle I never saw coming.
But it wasn’t over just yet. Two weeks later, I was back in the house. The nursery was slowly coming together — two cribs, some soft pastel wallpaper, and little stuffed animals sitting on the windowsill.
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