“Not just the paper,” I said calmly. “The officers outside agree.”
Her face drained of color. “What?”
Two officers stepped inside. I had contacted them before arriving. They confirmed the deed was valid and that I was the lawful owner.
“You’ve got 24 hours to vacate,” one officer informed her.
She screamed, “I’m not going anywhere!”
But Mike, scanning the document, muttered, “Looks real to me.”
Veronica stared at him. “You’re siding with her?”
He shrugged. “I’m not risking jail for this.”
And just like that, they were finished. She slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
For the first time, the house truly belonged to me.
Two weeks later, I was arranging the nursery when furious pounding shook the front door. Veronica and Mike had returned, shouting.
“You don’t deserve this house!” she screamed. “It’s mine!”
I didn’t open the door. I called the police.
Within minutes, they were arrested for trespassing and harassment. Veronica fought wildly, yelling about what she was “owed,” but it didn’t matter.
That night, I sat in the quiet living room, the deed resting in my lap, wrapped in a blanket. I looked up and whispered, “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”
And he had.
