That afternoon, my dad pulled me aside and handed me a folder. Inside was the house deed.
“If anything ever happens to us,” he said, “this is yours.
You were the one who came back.”
I hugged him, and for a while neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to.
As for Cassandra?
She’s couch-surfing now, staying with whatever friend will still talk to her. Word is, she’s been telling people we betrayed her.
That we “turned our backs.” That we “stole her future.”
Nathan? He took off two days after the eviction notice was delivered. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.
Meanwhile, my parents are safe, warm, and eating real meals in a house that finally feels like theirs again.
No more camping stove. No more garage.
That Easter ended with steaks on the grill, tulips in a vase on the table, and laughter echoing through the house just like it used to. It felt like home again.
And for the first time in a long time, everything was exactly where it belonged.
