Mark and Emily had conveniently forgotten a crucial fact that I was about to remind them of: I owned the house.
As I stood at the doorstep, a mixture of resolve and anticipation coursed through me. Next to me was a man I had met at a support group, a lawyer who specialized in elder abuse cases. His presence wasn’t just for legal reasons—he was a pillar of strength and a silent reminder that I was not alone.
I rang the doorbell, feeling the weight of years of silence lifting with each chime. Emily opened the door, her face twisting with surprise and a hint of disdain. Behind her, Mark glanced over, his expression morphing from bewilderment to irritation.
