When I Arrived At My Vacation House, A Notice Was Taped To The Door: “Move-Out Notice In 14 Days.” My Name Was Printed Underneath—Listed As “Not Authorized To Occupy.” I Called My Mother. She Just Laughed: “You Wouldn’t Help With Our Debt. Now You Lose This Too.” At The County Courthouse, The Clerk Typed The Case Number, Paused—Then Went Still. “Hold Placed,” She Whispered. “This Paperwork Doesn’t Match Our Records.” Then She Slid The Paper Back And Said Quietly: “Go There. Right Now.” …but As Soon As I Pulled Into The Driveway…

An Eviction Notice Was Suddenly Posted on My Vacation House—My Parents Forged the Papers and…
I knew something was wrong the second I turned onto the street. My vacation house sits at the end of a short gravel drive, tucked behind a line of sea pines. Normally, when I pull up, I feel my shoulders drop—like my body remembers safety before my mind catches up.

This time, my shoulders went up. There was a sheet of paper taped dead center to the front door. Not a flyer, not a neighbor note—an official notice.

White paper, bold letters, a block of text I couldn’t read from the car. But I could read the one word that mattered from twenty feet away. Eviction.

I parked crooked. I didn’t even shut the car off at first. I just stared, convinced I was misreading it.

Then I got out, walked up the steps, and saw the line underneath. Eviction in 14 days. My hands went cold.

Not nervous-cold—ice-cold, like my blood had been drained and replaced with air. My name was printed below it. And then the line that made my stomach drop into my shoes.

Unauthorized occupant. Unauthorized. In my own house.

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