Now, standing at the edge of the lawn with my belongings unceremoniously strewn across it, I watched my mother and Emma gloat as if they had just conquered a fortress. They didn’t realize that history had shifted beneath their feet, that the very ground they stood on was no longer theirs to claim.
The irony was delicious. I had spent the last few months working quietly with the notary to finalize the paperwork, ensuring every legal detail was perfect. The house was mine, but I had no intention of living there.
My life was elsewhere, built from scratch, stronger and more fulfilling than I could have imagined during those lonely years of feeling like a ghost in my own family.
