His father, Harold Keller, talked confidently about turning the backyard into a proper grilling space, as if I had not spent years paying for every inch of that property in a quiet suburb outside Phoenix.
“Adrian,” I said carefully, forcing a smile that felt heavier than usual, “it is done, and I made the last transfer myself, so I am not carrying this alone anymore.”
He did not congratulate me, and instead he took my phone from my hand, glanced at the email quickly, and looked at me with a cold expression that made my chest tighten.
“Perfect,” he said flatly, “then I do not need you here anymore, because my parents are moving in and you are leaving today.”
I laughed automatically because my mind refused to accept what he had just said. “Excuse me,” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood everything.
“Do not pretend you are confused,” Gloria interrupted while crossing her arms, “because a woman living alone never understands the value of family, but we do.”
Something inside me burned, but I held his gaze without stepping back. “I paid for this house,” I said clearly, “and I covered every payment, repair, and bill without help from anyone.”