“You changed the Netflix password.”
“I did.”
Sarah stood up. Her face was red. “You can’t do this. We’re your family.”
“You’re my daughter,” I said. “That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like a servant.”
“We needed help. You offered.”
“I offered a few months. It’s been two years. I’ve paid for everything. I’ve cooked. I’ve cleaned. I’ve raised your daughter while you sat on your phone. And last night, you let her spit on my dinner and told her I deserved it.”
Sarah’s lip trembled. Not with sadness. With anger. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being honest.”
Greg appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a stained t-shirt and boxers. He looked at me like I was a stranger. “What’s going on?”
“Your wife is finally standing up for herself,” I said. “You have thirty days to find a new place to live.”
Greg laughed. “You can’t evict us. We’re family.”
“I can evict anyone who lives in my house without paying rent. I checked. I have rights.”
Sarah’s face went white. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Lily appeared behind Greg. She was holding a stuffed rabbit. She looked at me with the same cold expression her mother had worn the night before.
“You’re mean,” she said.
“I’m not mean,” I said. “I’m done.”
I walked past them. I climbed the stairs. I went to the attic.
The attic was dusty and dark. Boxes were stacked against the walls. Old furniture. Old clothes. Old memories.
The blue folder was exactly where Robert had said it would be. Top shelf. Behind a box of Christmas decorations.
I opened it.
Inside were documents. Bank statements. Deeds. A will.
And a letter.
The letter was addressed to me. In Robert’s handwriting.
“My dearest Carolyn,” it read. “If you are reading this, I am gone. I am sorry I could not tell you this in person. I was afraid. I was ashamed. But you deserve to know the truth.”
I sat down on a dusty trunk. My hands were trembling.
“Sarah is not your daughter.”
I read the line again. Then again. The words didn’t change.
“Sarah is my brother’s child. He died when she was a baby. His wife abandoned her. I brought her home. I told you she was ours. I told everyone she was ours. I thought it would be better that way. I thought it would protect her. I thought it would protect you.”
I felt the floor tilt. I gripped the letter.
