My brother-in-law Trent sat sprawled across my sofa with his boots on my coffee table, recording everything on his phone as if my pain were entertainment.
“You should’ve chosen an easier family to steal from, sweetheart,” he mocked.
I tasted blood. My cheek burned. My side ached. But I refused to scream. That disappointed them. For six months, ever since my husband Daniel had been deployed overseas, they had circled me like predators. At first, it was smaller insults. Evelyn questioning why Daniel had married “a waitress with no background.” Marissa borrowing my jewelry and never giving it back. Trent showing up drunk and demanding money because, according to him, “family takes care of family.” But tonight was different. Tonight, they had brought paperwork. Evelyn threw a folder onto the table.
“Sign them.”
I looked down. A transfer agreement. Power of attorney. Authorization to sell Daniel’s house. Our house. My house too.
“You think I’m that foolish?” I asked quietly.
