Months earlier, when I was still recovering, Elliot had visited me. Daniel had been playing the perfect grandson—attentive, caring, responsible. And in my vulnerability, I had trusted him enough to sign over the house.
But Elliot had seen what I hadn’t.
“You need protection,” he had said. “We’ll put in a contingency clause. If he ever forces you out or fails to provide you with a home, the deed reverts back to you. No loopholes.”
Daniel, in his arrogance, had never bothered to read the fine print.
Elliot’s voice brought me back. “I’ll file the paperwork today. Legally, the house is yours again. Give it a few hours, and you can walk right back in.”
Warmth spread through me—nothing to do with the tea Margaret placed in front of me.
For illustrative purposes only
By the time Daniel and Chloe returned from their celebratory dinner, the locks had already been changed.
Their suitcases sat neatly on the porch under the dim glow of the porch light.
Inside, I waited.
“The hell—?” Daniel muttered, rattling the doorknob. When it wouldn’t open, he pounded on the door. “Grandma! What the hell is this?!”
I took my time, sipping my coffee before approaching the door. Slowly, I knelt and opened the mail slot.
“You wanted me gone, dear,” I said sweetly. “Well, now you get to see what it’s like.”
His face appeared in the slot, flushed with rage. “You can’t do this! This is my house!”
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