I saw the address.
For three days, I did nothing.
Then I bought the property through Northstar Property Group.
My parents received their proceeds.
Their lender was paid.
They signed the documents voluntarily.
My name appeared nowhere in their closing package.
That was how, three weeks before Mom called demanding bedrooms in my new home, I became the legal owner of the house she once ordered me to leave.
At 10:58 the next morning, my gate camera alerted me.
Dad drove the silver Mercedes.
Mom sat beside him.
Tessa was in the back surrounded by luggage.
A second vehicle followed carrying more suitcases and two storage bins.
They really intended to move in.
At 11:04, the doorbell rang.
I waited a few seconds, then opened the door.
Mom’s eyes traveled over me from hair to shoes.
Dad looked older.
Tessa stared past me into the foyer.
“Wow,” she said, immediately raising her phone. “This place is insane.”
“Put the phone away.”
“I’m not filming you.”
“You’re filming my home.”
Mom stepped forward.
“Mara, are we really starting with hostility after two years?”
“You called yesterday.”
“And now we’re here.”
She moved toward the threshold.
I blocked her.
“Nobody comes in until we agree why you’re here.”
Dad exhaled.
“We drove three hours. Don’t create a performance.”
“I’m not.”
Mom folded her sunglasses.
“Your father is dealing with temporary business complications. Our house is in transition. You have more than enough space. We’re staying until things settle.”
“Did I invite you?”
“You said eleven.”
“I agreed to meet you at eleven.”
Tessa looked toward the luggage.
“We brought everything.”
“I noticed.”
Then Ivy began crying inside.
All three of them froze.
I crossed the living room, lifted her from the bassinet, and returned with her against my chest.
Mom stared.
“Whose baby is that?”
“Mine.”
Tessa lowered her phone.
“You had a baby?”
“Six months ago.”