The next morning, Adam and I drove back to his parents’ house. When we arrived, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were in the living room, sitting smugly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“This is our house, Adam,” his father replied coldly. “Our rules. Mila needs to understand that.”
Adam’s tone hardened. “Dad, this isn’t about rules. You don’t get to treat my wife and child like they’re guests you can throw out whenever you please.”
The argument went back and forth, tempers flaring, voices rising—but before anything could be resolved, the doorbell rang. Mr. Anderson went to answer it, only to find two police officers standing on the porch.
They informed him that they were there to escort him and his wife off the property.
The truth came out right there in the doorway: Adam had secretly purchased the house years ago, using his entire savings, and had put the deed in my name for legal security.
The small amount of money his father had contributed had gone into a failed business venture. In short, the house wasn’t theirs at all—it was ours.
That evening, after the dust settled, I sat in the nursery, cradling Tommy in my arms. For the first time in weeks, I felt calm. Safe. Then the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law.
“We didn’t know it was your house,” she said quietly, her voice stripped of its usual arrogance. “If we had known, we would never have said those things…”
There was a long silence on the other end before she finally whispered, “So… can we come back?”
“No,” I said firmly, feeling something shift inside me—a strength I didn’t know I had. “I know what you’re capable of now. I don’t want you in my house ever again.”
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