“Is someone staying at the house?”
I looked at the family group chat. Mom had posted a photo from my deck with the caption: Our little slice of heaven.
“Yes,” I said. “Temporarily.”
Melissa warned me to handle it properly. My mother and sister had never paid rent, received mail there, or signed a lease, but I still needed to give them written notice. So I did.
Every adult received the same message: the property was under contract, their belongings had to be removed by Tuesday at noon, and permission to stay there had been revoked.
Mom called three minutes later.
“What is this?”
“A notice.”
“You’re selling the house?”
“Yes.”
She laughed once.
“No, you’re not.”
She said Grandpa had meant the house for everyone. She called me vindictive. Then Mark took the phone and told me to calm down before I made a decision I would regret.
“The decision is already made,” I said.
By Monday, Kayla had sent six messages about family loyalty, her children’s memories, and the shame of “evicting my own mother.”
Nobody mentioned the $67,000.
Nobody mentioned telling me I wasn’t welcome.
Tuesday morning, Melissa called.
“The buyer’s attorney found something.”
My stomach tightened.
“Your mother contacted the title company. She says she has an ownership interest.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She submitted a document.”
Five minutes later, the PDF was in my inbox.
