“We’re fine, George, and I’m sorry it had to happen like this,” I replied.
He told me to keep my documents safe and not to let them corner me again. “Take care of my grandson,” he whispered before disappearing into the hallway.
I wrote three rules in my notebook before bed: don’t argue when tired, don’t react emotionally, and follow every legal procedure.
The next morning, Jeremy and Henrietta arrived with empty bags and angry faces. Steve the guard stood in the doorway to ensure they didn’t try to push past him.
“You’re treating me like a criminal in my own home,” Jeremy complained as he threw his shirts into a bag.
“It stopped being your home the second you locked me out,” I replied.
My parents, Frank and Martha, arrived shortly after to help me move to their house for a few weeks while I recovered. My father stood by the door with his arms crossed.
“If there are any more issues, we will handle this through the courts,” Frank said firmly.
Henrietta tried to shame my mother for how she raised me. “Your daughter is calling the police on her own family!” she shouted.
“My daughter is protecting her son from people who don’t care about him,” Martha replied calmly.