I didn’t waste time.
The next morning, I went straight to the house. Veronica was in the kitchen, sipping her fancy imported coffee, dressed in silk pajamas like she was living in a five-star resort. She looked up, confused.
I didn’t say a word at first. I just walked in, calm and steady, and laid the deed on the table in front of her.
“What’s this?”
I looked her in the eyes and said:
“Actually, it’s mine. Dad left it to me. Legally, you can’t touch it. Nothing you do will change that.”
She stared at the paper like it had personally insulted her.
“T-This isn’t… You can’t… That’s not fair!”
“Oh, it’s completely fair,” I said. “You tried to throw me and your husband’s grandchildren onto the street while I was about to give birth.”
She stood up, eyes wild.
“You think this little piece of paper gives you the right to—”
“To stay in my home?” I said. “Yes.”
Two police officers stepped in from the hallway. I had informed the authorities before confronting her.
The officers explained everything calmly: she had no legal claim to the house.
“You’ve got 24 hours to collect your things and vacate the premises,” one officer said. “Any attempt to interfere will be considered criminal trespass.”
Mike stormed in before she could argue.
“Looks real to me,” he muttered.
