It was a bittersweet victory, and as I stood there, I realized I didn’t want the house as much as I wanted closure. “You don’t have to move,” I said quietly. “Stay as long as you need. But understand this: it’s my house now.”

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving them to grapple with the unexpected twist of fate. As I drove away, a sense of liberation washed over me—not just from the house, but from the ghosts of my past. The home that once felt like a prison was now a symbol of my independence, a testament to how far I’d come despite everything.