“Our daughter is having an episode. This is a misunderstanding.”
Deputy Hartman lifted a hand.
“Ma’am, I need to ask—do you live here?”
Mom blinked rapidly.
“We’re moving in today. This is family.”
“Do you live here?” he repeated.
“No,” she said tightly. “But we have a right to be here.”
“Do you have documentation proving ownership?” he asked.
Dad stepped forward.
“We helped her buy the place.”
“That’s not what I asked,” the deputy said.
He turned to the door.
“Miss, are you inside?”
I unlocked the door and stepped out, folder in hand. The cold air hit my face like a slap, but I stood tall.
“I’m the owner,” I said. “I have the deed, mortgage, tax documents, insurance policy.”
I handed the folder to Deputy Hartman. He flipped through the pages carefully.
“These are all in your name?”
“Yes.”
Mom lunged forward.
“She stole this house! We gave her money—”
The deputy raised an eyebrow.
“Do you have any documents proving shared ownership or a loan agreement?”
Mom opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Lydia’s face twisted.
“You’re taking her side. You don’t understand—”