When I told one woman she had just walked into my bedroom, she glanced at her clipboard and said, “The owners said the whole house was available for viewing.”
The owners.
Not my nephews.
Not the boys I had raised.
The owners.
I called every lawyer I could afford. They all told me the same thing.
My name was not on the deed.
I had guardianship, not ownership.
Legally, I had no claim.
One older lawyer looked at me with pity and said, “They began this process the day they turned eighteen. That means they planned it.”
That hurt more than the eviction notice.
While I was baking their birthday cake, they had been preparing to throw me out.
When I asked them when they had decided I was no longer family, Mason casually admitted they had discussed it for years.
Noah said they wanted freedom.
Travel.
A nicer car.
