Lily cried dramatically—and then asked if the upstairs bedroom could fit bunk beds.
I should have understood then.
I didn’t.
I was too exhausted.
Soon, my mother started calling it “the family house.”
Lily began talking about space, schools, and how cramped their place was.
Ethan mostly looked uncomfortable.
But he never spoke up.
One afternoon, I came home and overheard Lily on the phone.
“By spring, we’ll be in,” she said.
“Ava won’t have a choice.
Mom says it belongs to the family anyway.”
I stood there, something inside me going very still.
The next morning, I went to the county recorder’s office.
I expected complications.
Instead, the clerk printed the document within minutes.
Everything had been filed properly.
The house had legally transferred to me the moment Dad died.
I took it straight to his attorney, Rachel Hayes.
She reviewed it and nodded.
“Your father was smarter than all of them,” she said.
Then she asked, “How bad will this get?”
“Very,” I answered.
She advised me to prepare.
Move utilities into my name.
Document everything.
Install cameras.
“And if they try anything,” she said, “don’t fight them. Let them create evidence.”
So I did.
I gathered documents.
Changed passwords.