“I was invited,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Grandma wanted me here.”

My father cleared his throat, an attempt to regain his composure. “We weren’t sure you’d come,” he said, which translated to we hoped you wouldn’t.

I felt a tug on my blouse; Laya, her eyes wide and curious, was looking up at me. “Mom, are these our family?”

I nodded, though the word “family” had never felt so complicated. “Yes, sweetheart. They are.”

As we made our way through the room, I noticed my grandmother across the room. She stood like a matriarch in an old oil painting, poised and commanding, a stark contrast to the rest of the room’s transient chaos. When our eyes met, she gave a nod, an unspoken promise that everything would be resolved.

The evening progressed with the typical pleasantries and obligatory conversations. Relatives who I hadn’t spoken to in years came by to feign interest in my life, while others offered empty condolences for my “situation,” whatever they assumed it to be.

But the real spectacle was Evelyn. She seemed to glide through the crowd, whispering in ears and exchanging hushed conversations with various family members. She was orchestrating something, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Finally, after what felt like hours of small talk and forced smiles, Evelyn clapped her hands together to silence the room. “Family,” she began, her voice clear and commanding. “Thank you all for coming today. There’s something very important we need to discuss.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on her. “There has been a misunderstanding,” she continued, her gaze sweeping across the room. “Regarding a property on Hawthorne Street.”

My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath as my grandmother continued. “It appears there has been some confusion regarding its ownership. One that we will rectify immediately.”

A murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd. My parents exchanged worried glances, and I could see the lines of concern etched deeply into their faces.

“The house,” Evelyn continued, “was intended for Maya, my granddaughter, and her daughter, Laya.”

The room erupted in whispers. I felt a mixture of relief and disbelief. Was this really happening? My parents looked at me, their expressions a mix of shock and something else—something bordering on shame.

Evelyn turned to me, her eyes softening for the first time. “You and Laya will be moving in immediately.”

Tears filled my eyes, and I crouched down to Laya’s level. “Sweetheart, we have a house,” I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.

Laya’s face broke into a smile, brighter than any I had seen in months. “We have a house!” she echoed, her voice ringing out, silencing the whispers.

As the night wore on, the tension in the room lifted, replaced by a sense of resolution. My grandmother had spoken, and her word was law. The house on Hawthorne Street was ours, a beacon of hope and a new beginning.