For weeks, I said nothing, letting Carla believe she had won. But on a quiet Tuesday morning, she was served legal papers that flipped her smug little world upside down. She screamed through the phone, but I didn’t even flinch — I just blocked her number and let the law do its work. Thirty days later, she still hadn’t budged, so I arrived with a locksmith, a court order,
and a mobile billboard flashing a message she couldn’t ignore: “This home now belongs to Olivia.” She raged and cursed, but I stood firm — I wasn’t leaving without reclaiming what my father wanted me to have. Days after she left, I found a letter from Dad hidden in his desk with a silver key and one last secret. In a locked box behind a closet panel were dozens of photos of Carla… with another man. Suddenly, everything made sense — and I knew my father had seen through her all along.