I took a deep breath, refusing to let her bait me.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, my voice calm. “I’ll give you the house back under one condition. Show me proof that I don’t own it—anything that says you have a legal right to take it.
Or, if you want the house and everything in it, you can buy it back at market value.”
Her eyes widened. “Market value? Are you insane?
That would be—”
“Over $400,000,” I said, cutting her off. “That’s what it’s worth now, thanks to the work I’ve put into it. So unless you’re prepared to write a check, this conversation is over.”
Karen’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
Finally, she turned on her heel and stormed toward the door.
“This isn’t over!” she shouted as she left.
I closed the door behind her and leaned against it, my heart pounding.
“No, Karen,” I said quietly. “It is.”
For years, I poured my heart into this place. Every brushstroke, every nail, and every late night spent cleaning and repairing had brought me closer to making it mine.
And now, it was my home.
Karen and her family had given up on it, but I hadn’t. They saw a burden; I saw potential. They abandoned its history; I preserved it.
Looking around, I felt a surge of pride.
The house had been a disaster, just like they’d said. But now, it was more beautiful than even I had imagined.
This was my life’s work, and no one could take that from me.
Source: amomama
