with calm precision, my mom had the locks changed and Sharon’s things moved to the lawn. When Sharon and her kids returned, they exploded in disbelief—but the truth was undeniable. The house was never theirs. The police were called, the scene was dramatic—but in the end, j
ustice quietly stood on our side. Later, sitting on the couch with my mom, she promised to transfer the deed to my name on my 18th birthday.For the first time in weeks, I felt safe enough to grieve. To breathe. To begin healing. In my home—the one no one could take from me again.