“Sir,” one of them said to Rick.
“You have 24 hours to leave the premises.”
Rick ran a hand through his hair, looking from the officers to me. “And where do you expect me to go?”
I shrugged. “Not my problem.”
The officer stepped forward.
“Sir, I suggest you start packing.”
Rick ran a hand through his hair. “And where do you expect me to go?”
I shrugged. “Not my problem.”
Rick didn’t argue anymore.
That night, I sat in my room, listening to the sounds of drawers opening, boxes shifting, and bags being dragged across the floor.
I thought I would feel relief, victory, or anger.
I felt nothing.
I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It had taken a full year to get here. A full year of watching Rick take over my home, acting like I was the one who didn’t belong.
Not anymore.
I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, the house was silent.
For the first time in a year, the house was mine.
I sat in the center of the room, taking it in.
The silence wasn’t eerie. It was peaceful.
I walked over to the mantle. My mother’s picture was back where it belonged.
I had found it buried in a drawer, shoved behind a bunch of Rick’s useless junk. I ran my fingers over the frame.
“I did it, Mom,” I whispered.
Some people mistake kindness for weakness. But standing up for myself?
That’s how I took my power back.
Source: amomama
