THE DAY I INHERITED MY GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE—AND MY FAMILY TURNED ON ME

I walked out, the finality of it hitting me in the chest. I drove to Grandpa’s house and sat on the porch. I felt alone, but also strangely strong.

That night, I decided to move in. I packed my clothes and a few boxes of memories. The first evening there, I cooked Grandpa’s favorite stew. I ate it by myself at the old kitchen table, tears dripping into my bowl.

The next morning, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Greer on the steps, looking angrier than I’d ever seen him.

“I’m warning you,” he said, stepping closer. “If you don’t give us this house, you’ll regret it.”

I took a deep breath. “Leave now. Or I’ll call the police.”

He scoffed, but backed down. He must’ve known I meant it.

Days turned into weeks. My mom called occasionally, each conversation stilted and cold. She always ended with, “You’re making a huge mistake.” Catriona didn’t call at all.

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