protected by a waterproof sleeve, was one folder.
I opened it.
The original deed.
Still crisp.
Still untouched.
Not in Richard’s name.
Not in some shared family trust.
Mine.
Transferred years earlier, quietly and legally, protected through layers they had clearly never bothered to understand.
My grandfather had made sure of that.
A general didn’t leave loose ends.
My heartbeat steadied.
Upstairs, I heard movement and laughter.
They thought this house belonged to them.
They thought I was the one who no longer belonged.
I looked at the deed and
