„Czy to… Ty, Olivio?!” Moja teściowa zbladła. Pięć lat temu wyrzuciła mnie z domu, kiedy byłam w ciąży – a wczoraj kupiłam ich dom na aukcji długów. „Kochanie, uratowałaś nas!” – powiedział mój były – ten sam mężczyzna, który kiedyś widział, jak płaczę na schodach – po czym pobiegł mnie przytulić. Uśmiechnęłam się i powiedziałam…

Brenda flinched.

Her eyes darted between her furious son and my impassive face.

I could see frantic calculations happening behind her eyes.

Ditch versus roof.

Homelessness versus humiliation.

For a woman who had worshiped at the altar of appearances for so long, it was an impossible choice.

But her survival instinct was stronger than her pride.

“Leo, be quiet,” she hissed.

She grabbed his arm.

“Where would we go? We have nothing. Nothing.”

“I don’t care,” he shot back.

His voice cracked with childish rage.

“We can’t let her do this to us.”

I glanced at the slim gold watch on my wrist.

“Fifty-eight minutes,” I announced.

I turned my back on their squalid little family drama and walked up the main staircase.

My hand glided over the banister that was now mine again.

Every step upward felt like I was shedding a layer of the past five years.

The ghosts of my grief and desperation seemed to recede with each creak of the old wood beneath my heels.

Halfway up the stairs, I paused.

Not because I was unsure.

Because a memory slammed into me.

Dad standing on these steps, laughing.

“Slow down, Liv,” he’d call when I ran down in socks. “You’ll break your neck.”

He’d always been worried about me breaking.

I used to think he meant my bones.

Now I knew he meant everything else.

Upstairs, the hallway was dim.

The light fixture had a burned-out bulb, casting a shadowy half-glow that made the place feel abandoned.

I walked down the familiar hallway to the last door on the left.

My room.

My hand hesitated on the tarnished brass knob.

I pushed it open.

A wave of stale air and disappointment washed over me.

It was barely recognizable.

The soft pink wallpaper my dad and I had picked out together was gone.

Covered over with a drab, institutional beige.

My beautiful window seat, where I’d spent countless hours reading, was piled high with Leo’s old video game consoles and dusty boxes.

There were scuff marks on the baseboards.

A cracked mirror leaning against the wall.

They hadn’t just erased me from their lives.

They had scrubbed away any evidence I had ever existed within these walls.

The anger I’d felt downstairs returned.

Sharp.

Clarifying.

Any flicker of doubt, any whisper of pity, was extinguished.

They deserved every second of what was coming.

I leaned against the door frame.

I listened.

From downstairs, muffled voices rose and fell.

A frantic, desperate argument.

Brenda’s pleading tones.

Leo’s indignant bellows.

They were tearing each other apart.

And I was the architect of their destruction.

The thought brought a grim, satisfying smile to my face.

I walked back down the stairs at exactly one hour.

They stood in the foyer, looking utterly defeated.

Leo’s face was sullen.

His arms crossed tightly over his chest.

But his eyes were fixed on the floor.

Brenda looked ten years older.

Her face pale and streaked with tears.

“Well?” I asked.

My voice echoed in the hall.

Brenda took a shaky breath.

“We accept,” she whispered.

The words sounded like they were being ripped from her throat.

“We accept your terms.”

“Good,” I said.

I didn’t allow a single ounce of triumph to show.

This was a business transaction.

“Now,” I continued, “let’s go over your duties. Brenda, you will start with the kitchen. It’s disgusting. The cleaning supplies are under the sink. I want the floors scrubbed, the counters disinfected, and the oven cleaned until it looks brand new. After that, you will start on the rest of the house, one room at a time.”

I shifted my gaze to Leo.

He refused to look at me.

“Leo,” I said.

He stayed silent.

“Leo,” I repeated.

My voice sharpened.

His head snapped up.

His eyes were full of impotent rage.

“The lawn mower and gardening tools are in the shed out back,” I said. “You will mow the lawn, pull every single weed, and trim the hedges. I want this property’s curb appeal restored by the end of the week. Your living quarters above the garage will be ready for you by tonight. Your personal belongings from the main house should be moved there by then.”

I held their gaze.

“Any questions?”

They just stared.

Their silence was a testament to their complete and utter defeat.

“Excellent,” I said. “Get to work.”

I watched for a moment as Brenda shuffled numbly towards the kitchen.

Leo stormed out the back door.

He slammed it behind him.

The sound was music to my ears.

For the first time in five years, the house felt quiet.

It felt like mine.

I began to walk through the downstairs rooms, taking inventory of the damage, of the missing pieces of my life.

The living room.

The dining room.

The den.

Everything felt hollowed out.

Stripped of its soul.

I found scratches on the floor where furniture had been dragged.

A dent in the wall where someone had slammed something heavy.

A cracked tile in the kitchen.

In the pantry, only a handful of stale boxes and an open bag of rice.

Their money hadn’t just run out.

Their care had run out.

Finally, I came to the door of my father’s study.

This had been his sanctuary.

I pushed the door open.

Grief and anticipation tightened in my chest.

This room, too, had been picked clean.

The antique mahogany desk was gone.

Replaced by a cheap flat-pack table.

The leather armchair where he used to read to me had vanished.

Only the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves he had built remained.

I ran my fingers along the spines of the few books they hadn’t bothered to sell.

It was a familiar, comforting gesture.

My fingers traced the intricate woodwork, muscle memory from a lifetime of doing so.

And then my fingers stopped near the bottom corner of the right-hand bookshelf.

I felt it.

A slight give.

A wooden panel that wasn’t quite flush with the rest.

My heart started to pound.

It was a secret my dad had shown me when I was a kid.

A little hidden compartment where he kept treasures.

I’d completely forgotten.

With trembling fingers, I found the hidden latch and pressed.

A small section of the bookshelf clicked open.

A dark, dusty cavity revealed itself.