I suggest you do the same.”
Cynthia was heartbroken. And homeless. Just days after burying her father.
She whispered, “You’re kicking me out?”
Chloe laughed quietly, finally looking up from her phone and giving Cynthia a smirk. Leo grinned in much the same way. “You have no right,” Cynthia said, her voice breaking.
Mrs. Davies chuckled. “Oh, sweetie.
I do. Now, please take your things and leave. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to call the police.”
With that, she shut the door in Cynthia’s face.
Cynthia knew she would make good on her threat, so she scrambled to grab what she could: her backpack, a tote bag stuffed with clothes, and the framed picture of Cynthia and Mr. Harrison. Her fingers were shaking so badly that she dropped it once.
She was still in the yard when she felt eyes on her. Their neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, was standing on her porch, watching.
She came over quietly and said, “If you need somewhere to go, I have a spare couch.”
Cynthia probably should’ve gone back to Sarah’s, but she was so shocked that she could barely nod and say thank you to the kind older woman. That night, Cynthia sat on Mrs. Thompson’s couch, hugging her knees to her chest, the porch light barely reaching through the living room window.
She felt small. Lost. Like everything solid in her life had cracked open.
And then she pulled out her phone. She didn’t want to do this. Mrs.
Miller hadn’t been able to take off work to come to Mr. Harrison’s funeral to support Cynthia. But Cynthia just didn’t know what else to do.
So, she called her mother. “Mom?” Cynthia’s voice cracked, and Mrs. Miller immediately got worried.
“No, I’m okay. I mean… well, not really. It’s Mrs.
Davies… she changed the locks. She said the house is for family and kicked me out.”
“What?!”
“I know you couldn’t come because of work, but I’m now at Mrs. Thompson’s.
I guess I could take a bus tomorrow—”
“No,” Mrs. Miller cut Cynthia off. “You stay put.
I’ll be there in a few hours.”
And she hung up. She drove through the night. When Cynthia woke up around six the next morning, she heard her mother’s car pull into Mrs.
Thompson’s driveway. She ran outside barefoot. Her mother stepped out, and Cynthia jumped into her arms.
For a moment, Cynthia didn’t say anything. Neither did her mother. Then her mother pulled back and looked Cynthia in the eye.
“Sweetheart, I gotta tell you something. Something he didn’t want you to know,” she said. “And there’s more he didn’t want Mrs.
Davies and her kids to know, either.”
Cynthia blinked. “What do you mean?”
Her mother took a deep breath. “Sweetie, I didn’t drive up for your Dad’s funeral because… of why we separated.
I cheated on him. He wouldn’t have wanted me there. We ended on horrible terms, but we hid it well.
None of us wanted you to know the truth,” she confessed, not meeting Cynthia’s eyes for a second. “I was so ashamed, too.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Cynthia muttered. This was not the time to drop such a bombshell!
“I know. I was awful, but I’m telling you now because,” she paused, swallowing. “I wanted to make it right somehow.
So, I paid off the entire mortgage after the divorce in one lump sum. And although the deed was in my name, I told your father that it would always be his home and yours.”
Cynthia stepped back from her mother, shaking her head. “Dad let you do that?
Even after…?”
“Yes, but it was always his intention to gift it to you one day,” her mother continued. “I can’t believe this.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mrs. Miller insisted.
“But, Cynthia, that means Mrs. Davies doesn’t own that house, because your dad never did. And I brought the deed with me to prove it.”
At that moment, Mrs.
Thompson’s voice registered. “Why don’t you both come inside? It looks like you have a real eviction to figure out,” she said, looking between them with her kind smile.
Finally, Cynthia grinned too. “Okay,” she breathed. They waited until the weekend.
Mrs. Davies and her kids had taken off somewhere. Mrs.
Miller called a locksmith Saturday morning. Cynthia stood there as the guy changed the locks. Watched as Mrs.
Miller calmly directed a moving company to pack up Mrs. Davies’ and her kids’ stuff—neatly—and place everything on the lawn. Early Monday morning, Cynthia heard their car pull up.
She didn’t even have to look. She heard the scream. “What the hell is this?!” Mrs.
Davies’ voice cut through the air like a siren. But Cynthia peeked through the window. Mrs.
Davies was in slippers and a travel hoodie, and her eyes were puffy. Leo was shouting behind her, and Chloe was crying. “This is OUR house!” Mrs.
Davies shrieked. “Open this door RIGHT NOW!”
Mrs. Miller opened it and stepped out slowly, holding the deed in one hand.
“Oh,” she said, calm as ever. “I think there’s been a little misunderstanding. This isn’t your house.”
Mrs.
Davies’ jaw dropped as she stared at the paper. “What is that?”
“It’s the deed to the house,” Mrs. Miller continued.
“I own it. See? My ex-husband never did.
So, you threw my daughter out illegally. I simply corrected your mistake.”
Leo made a sound like an angry dog and tried to shove past her. Mrs.
Miller stepped in his way. “You come any closer, and I’ll call the police.”
He stopped. They went on for like 10 minutes.
Mrs. Davies was crying. Chloe flopped onto a box, wailing dramatically.
And some other neighbor must have called the cops for the disturbance. They had to explain everything while Mrs. Davies, Leo, and Chloe tried to play the victim with the officers.
In the end, they had nothing to back them up. The cops told them to leave, and they were forced to pick up their things and drive away. Cynthia and her mother watched it all from inside the house.
Once they were gone, they sat on the couch, and Cynthia felt like she could breathe again. “You okay?” Mrs. Miller asked.
Cynthia nodded. “Better.”
She smiled. “So, now that that’s done, we’ll get the deed in your name as soon as you’re 18.
That’s only a few weeks away. I want you to have a future they can’t touch.”
Cynthia didn’t say anything right away. She just hugged her mother.
At that moment, she didn’t care what her mother had done in the past. That could wait. For now, she could just relax and truly take the time to mourn her father… safely, in their home.
