“No.”
I could hear paper moving on her desk.
“What happens now?”
“They decide whether they’re going to comply.”
I looked at the calendar.
For once, their decision did not require me to change mine first.
My mother tried several approaches.
The first was outrage.
She left messages saying Grandpa had never intended this and that Dale had turned me against her.
The second was bargaining.
They would let me move back. I could have the upstairs room. Kelsey and Tanner would stop using the reading nook if that was what I was upset about.
Then came a message that began, “Your father isn’t sleeping.”
I saved it with the others.
My father called once.
When I answered, he asked whether I could give them until summer.
“They’ve had notice,” I said.
“I know.”
“Are you looking for somewhere?”
“Your mother thinks this will get sorted out.”
“It is being sorted out.”
He breathed into the phone.
I could hear a television in the background.
“Amber—”
“Did you know about the letters?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
That was enough.
“I knew there were letters,” he said.
“Did you know they were addressed to me?”
“Yes.”
I looked down at my hand resting on the table.
“Why didn’t you give them to me?”
“Your mother said she was going to explain.”
“You could have put one in my room.”
“I know.”
I waited for him to say something else.
He didn’t.
“I’m not giving you until summer,” I said.
This time, when I ended the call, my hands stayed steady.
Tanner left before the deadline.
He carried his weights and lights out one Saturday while a friend waited with a pickup.
I knew because he texted me a picture of the empty reading nook.
For the record, I wasn’t part of the Christmas thing.
I didn’t reply.
Kelsey stayed.
Through Helen, I arranged to collect the belongings still in my room. Mariah came with me, and my parents agreed to be out for the appointment.
Kelsey was there.
She stood in the kitchen wearing slippers I had given her the previous year.
“Mom says you’re enjoying this.”
I carried an empty carton upstairs.
She followed me.
“I’m talking to you.”
“I know.”
“Then say something.”
I opened my closet.
The room smelled the same. My books were still on the shelf. A laundry basket sat where I had left it.
Someone had put a ring light against my bed.
I unplugged it and moved it into the hallway.
Kelsey watched.
“The video was a joke,” she said.
I turned toward her.
“Which part?”
She picked at the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
“The whole situation got out of hand.”
“You posted it.”
“I took it down.”
“After people saw it.”
She didn’t answer.
Mariah appeared at the door with another carton.
“What should I pack?”
“The books,” I said.
Kelsey went downstairs.
We finished in forty minutes.
When I left, I took the family photograph from my dresser. It was a picture of Grandpa and me beside a cabinet we had delivered together.
I didn’t take any other pictures.
The deadline passed.
My parents were still in the house.
Helen filed the possession case in the district court serving the property. The notices, proof of service, deed, and relevant documents went with it.
There was a hearing date, then a short delay after my parents sought legal advice.
I didn’t hear their private conversation with their lawyer. I didn’t need to.
Their lawyer contacted Helen, reviewed the ownership records, and explored whether we could agree on a departure date.
I offered several additional weeks if they would sign an agreement and actually leave.
My mother rejected it.
She wanted a written promise that I would sell the house and divide the proceeds.
I said no.
By the hearing in late February, I had been out of the house for almost two months.
I wore a navy dress I used for weddings at the flower shop and sat beside Helen with my hands folded around a tissue I hadn’t used.
My parents sat across the room.
My mother wouldn’t look at me.
My father did once, then looked down.
The judge heard both sides.
My mother talked about caring for her father, selling their previous home, and expecting to spend the rest of her life there.
The judge asked whether there was a written agreement granting lifetime occupancy.
There wasn’t.
Helen presented the documents and evidence of proper notice.
My parents’ payments toward ordinary household expenses were addressed. Their disappointment about the inheritance was addressed.
Nobody said the word ungrateful.
Nobody asked whether I had been a good daughter.