Mom’s mouth opened.
“You didn’t tell us?”
“You changed the locks on me, blocked my number, and told relatives I was unstable. When exactly did you expect a birth announcement?”
She ignored that.
“What’s her name?”
“Ivy.”
Mom reached toward her.
I stepped back.
Her hand stopped.
“Mara.”
“No.”
“I’m her grandmother.”
“Biologically.”
Her face hardened.
Dad deliberately stepped across the threshold.
“Enough. We didn’t come here to reopen old grievances. We need somewhere to stay. You have plenty of room.”
I looked at him.
Then I looked at their luggage.
“Take everything back out.”
Tessa relaxed.
“Finally.”
“And put it back in your house.”
Nobody moved.
Dad frowned.
“What?”
“Your occupancy agreement expires in twenty-seven days. I assume you’ve begun packing.”
His expression changed immediately.
“How do you know about our occupancy agreement?”
I picked up the gray envelope from the entry table.
“Because I read it before the closing.”
He stared at the envelope.
I removed the first page of the deed and handed it to him.
His eyes found the buyer.
Northstar Property Group LLC.
Then he looked at me.
“You?”
“Yes.”
The house they had once ordered me to leave no longer belonged to them.
They had sold it.
I had bought it.
Dad read the page three times.
“You bought our house?”
“You sold it.”
“It was a temporary liquidity arrangement.”
“You sold the property and signed a sixty-day occupancy agreement.”
Mom stepped closer.
“Then transfer it back.”
I stared at her.
“You have money now,” she continued. “We’ll repay you after Robert stabilizes the firm.”
“No.”