“I was told my presence would ruin the mood,” I stated simply. “It seems your mood is entirely dependent on my wallet. Happy New Year, Sarah.”
I tapped the red button, turned the phone completely off, and went to bed.
I slept better than I had in years.
I left for the airport long before the sun came up.
The main house was dark, the driveway empty of luxury cars.
I didn’t leave a note.
I just drove away.
I spent three glorious weeks in Florida with my sister.
When I finally turned my phone back on, I had dozens of frantic messages.
Sarah and David had managed to scrape together the catering money by taking a cash advance on a highinterest loan, deeply embarrassing themselves in front of David’s family.
When I returned home in late January, I walked straight into the main house.
Sarah and David were sitting in the living room looking exhausted.
I didn’t sit down.
I dropped two envelopes on the coffee table.
“The first envelope contains the utility transfer forms,” I said quietly. “Everything is out of my name. You’ll need to put down your own deposits.”
Sarah stared at the envelopes, her eyes wide.
“Mom, we can’t afford that right now.”
“Then you will need a cheaper place to live,” I replied, pointing to the second envelope.
“That is a month-to-month lease for market rate rent. Pay on the first of the month or pack your things.”
There was no arguing.
The leverage they thought they had over me was gone.
They realized far too late that I was never a captive audience.
I was the owner of the house.
They moved out two months later.