Kendra looked at Mom.
“You said the house automatically became yours.”
“It should have.”
“That isn’t the same thing as it did,” I said.
Mom’s eyes snapped toward me.
“You hid this.”
“I learned about it last month.”
“And you said nothing?”
“You gave me twenty-four hours to leave before you ever asked whose name was on the deed.”
For the first time, the neighbors did not look at me with pity.
They looked at Mom.
Mark set my box on the ground and pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling our lawyer.”
Maya gave him her business card.
“Please do.”
He stared at it without taking it.
Kendra stepped toward me.
Her voice dropped into the soft, wounded tone she used whenever she wanted to turn her cruelty into a misunderstanding.
“Ava, we didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Mom told us it was hers.”
“You still watched Mark throw my dishes onto the lawn.”
“That was because you wouldn’t leave.”
“I was the owner.”
“We thought you were squatting.”
“You watched me pay the mortgage for three years.”
Kendra’s mouth opened, then closed.
Mom recovered enough to lift her chin.
“I am your mother.
I have lived here for decades.
You cannot throw me onto the street.”
“I haven’t thrown anyone onto the street,” I said.
“You’re the only person who did that today.”
Deputy Harris glanced at the pile of my belongings.
“Everyone needs to stop moving property,” he said.
“The items already removed should be returned unless Ms.
Dawson says otherwise.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“We hired movers.
The truck is paid for.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to occupy someone else’s house.”
Kendra’s children were still near the truck, their earlier excitement gone.
I did not want them frightened or humiliated because of choices their parents had made.
“Kendra,” I said, “take the kids somewhere else while this is handled.”
She glanced at Mom, apparently waiting for permission.
Mom ignored her.
“You manipulated your father,” Mom said to me.
“You sat beside his bed and poisoned him against us.”
The accusation landed in the quiet yard.
For a moment, I was back in the hospital, holding a cup of ice chips while Dad struggled to breathe.
I remembered Mom leaving early because she disliked sleeping in hospital chairs.
I remembered Kendra promising to visit and then canceling because one of the children had a weekend tournament.
I remembered Dad asking me whether the insurance bill had been paid.
I remembered saying yes, even though I had paid it from my own account.
“I never asked him for the house,” I said.
“Then why did he give it to you?”
