My mom had been sick for nearly a year. Looking back, I realized she had stopped trusting him long before I understood why.
Now I knew.
“The house isn’t entirely mine,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother’s half… was placed in a trust. For you.”
Everything shifted.
The house, bought when I was five, had been partially transferred into a trust with me as the beneficiary. More importantly, the will gave me the legal right to keep my bedroom and live there until I turned eighteen.
I almost laughed at how precise she had been.
My father hadn’t just pushed me out—
he had tried to remove someone who legally had a right to stay.
And he had done it in writing.
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