Chapter 5 - THE NOTICE ON THEIR DOOR
I did not evict my parents the next morning.
That would have been easy.
It would also have been reckless.
Instead, Michael prepared something much more frightening to people who had spent years pretending paperwork didn’t matter.
A formal occupancy notice.
It stated three facts:
I was the legal owner.
Their continued occupancy had been permitted informally.
Any future occupancy would require a written agreement.
They had thirty days to meet with my attorney.
No threats.
No shouting.
Just reality printed on legal letterhead.
The notice was delivered Tuesday at 9:15 a.m.
My mother called at 9:18.
I declined.
9:19.
Declined.
9:21.
Declined.
Then came the voicemail.
“You ungrateful little witch. After everything we did for you, you’re trying to put your parents on the street?”
I saved it.
Not because I planned to use it.
Because for once, I wanted a record of what happened when I stopped immediately surrendering.
Karla called an hour later.
“She’s losing it.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“She says you’re evicting them.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s what I told her.”
I paused.
“You defended me?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I am shocked.”
Karla sighed.
“I read Dad’s letter.”
Apparently Dad had shown her.
“She knew,” Karla said.
“Yes.”
“I thought you really were living there for free.”
“I know.”
“She always said you couldn’t manage money after the divorce.”
I almost laughed.
“Meanwhile I was paying your mortgage.”
“I know.”
The shame in her voice sounded real.
Then she said something unexpected.
“I called the mortgage company. I’m taking over the payments.”
“Good.”
“I might have to cancel my gym membership and sell my car.”
“Then do that.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I expected you to offer help.”
That sentence could have offended me.
Instead, it made both of us laugh.
At least she had finally noticed the pattern.
That afternoon, Mrs. Gable knocked on my boarding-house door.
She held a plate of cookies for Sophia.
“Your little one told me Grandma threw away her soup.”
I closed my eyes.
Toddlers had no respect for privacy.
Mrs. Gable smiled sadly.
“Children remember who makes them feel safe.”
Sophia climbed onto my lap.
For the first time since we left, I realized I had not heard her ask to go back.
That hurt.
Then Michael called.
“I need you to sit down.”
“What now?”
“The lender’s fraud department traced the document containing your copied signature.”
“Okay.”
“It wasn’t created on your parents’ computer.”
“Whose?”
He paused.
“Karla’s.”
I looked at my phone.
May you like
My sister had just promised she was taking responsibility for her own life.
Now evidence suggested the forged document had come from her laptop.
