PART 2
“I gave up everything for you,” I whispered. “My career. My relationships. Thirteen years of my life.”
Lucas looked at me without blinking.
“We never asked you to.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
They had been five years old when I took them in.
They couldn’t have asked me anything.
But somehow, after all those years, they looked at me like I was just someone standing in the way of their money.
The next morning, strangers were already walking through my home.
Real estate agents measured rooms, took photos, and talked about renovations like I was invisible.
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, Ethan casually admitted they had discussed it for years.
Lucas said they wanted freedom.
Travel.
A nicer car.
A fresh start.
Then he added, “Honestly, you lived rent-free in our house for thirteen years. If anything, you owe us.”
That night, for the first time, the house no longer felt like home.
By the third week, I began packing.
I folded my clothes into old cardboard boxes.
I wrapped family photos in newspaper.
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