I felt the familiar sting of rejection and betrayal but remained silent. I knew something they didn’t, and I was about to witness a revelation that would change everything.

Later that afternoon, the family gathered in the notary’s office. Mom and Emma wore expressions of entitlement, already picturing their life in the house they believed was theirs. As the notary read the will, their faces transformed from anticipation to horror.

“… the house is not in the will,” the notary said, adjusting his glasses. “Because it already belongs to Sheila.”

The room was silent. Mom’s face drained of color, while Emma looked between us, confused and betrayed.

I remained calm, though inside I felt a mix of vindication and sadness. Dad had indeed sold me the house, and now it was mine. I knew he had done it to ensure they had a roof over their heads, but the poetic justice of the situation was undeniable. The house I was once exiled from was now my own sanctuary.