After reading the letter, he took me to the property—a small, worn place, but solid.

When I stepped inside, something inside me settled.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was mine.

—

The following days were overwhelming. Jason called from different numbers, his messages shifting from anger to pleading.

I ignored them all.

Then one morning, he showed up.

Standing outside, out of place.

“Olivia, we need to talk.”

“What do you want?” I asked calmly.

“I want to fix things,” he said. “We can start over.”

“No,” I replied.

He looked stunned.

“You didn’t stand up for us when it mattered. You’re only here now because you’re losing something.”

He tried to argue, but I stopped him.

“I spent five years trying to belong in your life. You chose silence every time I needed you. Don’t pretend now that you’re different.”

He fell quiet.