Chapter 4

Gwendolyn didn't go quietly.

She hired a lawyer. The most expensive one in Phoenix. She claimed the will was forged. She claimed I'd manipulated my mother. She claimed I was mentally unstable. She claimed the trust money was hers — that my mother had "intended" for her to have it.

Chloe posted videos. Crying videos. "My stepsister is trying to steal our home. She's greedy. She's heartless." But the comments weren't on her side anymore. People had seen the eviction notice. People had done the math. People knew.

The court date was set for three months later. In the meantime, Gwendolyn and Chloe had to leave the house. The judge ruled that since the deed was in my name, they had no right to live there pending trial. They had two weeks.

I went to the house on moving day. I didn't go inside. I stood across the street and watched.

Gwendolyn came out first. She was carrying bags. She looked furious. She looked at me across the street. She pointed. She screamed something I couldn't hear. I didn't move.

Chloe came next. She was carrying a box. She saw me. For a moment, our eyes met. And I saw something I hadn't expected. Fear. Shame. Maybe even — regret.

She looked away. She got in the car.

My father came out last. He carried one suitcase. He looked at the house — the house where he'd raised his daughter, where he'd lost his wife, where he'd wasted nine years. Then he looked at me.

He crossed the street. He stopped in front of me.

"I'm staying at a motel," he said. "I filed for divorce. I'm testifying. Whatever you need."

I nodded. "Okay."

He hesitated. Then he hugged me. It was awkward. Quick. But it was real.

I let him.

He got in his car and drove away.

I stood there for a long time, looking at the house. The cherry wood cabinet was visible through the dining room window. The scratch by the doorway was still there. The bedroom my mother had designed — empty now, the balcony door broken.

I didn't feel triumph. I didn't feel joy. I felt — grief. For the girl I'd been. For the father I'd lost. For the home that had been stolen.

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Then I turned and walked away. I had a new home. A real one. One that was mine.

And I never looked back.