Daniel wasn’t home.
So I left.
I drove myself to the ER. Got treated. Called my lawyer.
And before I went to sleep that night, I made one final call.
The next morning, I came back.
Not alone.
I stood on my own front porch with my shoulder bandaged, my lawyer beside me, two police officers behind us—and a locksmith holding his tools like a quiet promise.
When Margaret opened the door in her silk robe, she looked annoyed.
That changed quickly.
My lawyer stepped forward.
“You are no longer permitted on this property,” she said evenly. “The homeowner is present. The locks will be changed today.”
Margaret laughed.
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