“Tyler said he’d help you find somewhere smaller. Something easier to maintain. An apartment, perhaps, or a little townhouse.”
I looked toward the staircase.
For eighteen years, I had climbed those stairs carrying laundry, birthday presents, school projects, and sleeping children. I had painted the bedrooms, chosen the curtains, and spent entire weekends making sure the house felt like a home.
My father had helped make it possible.
He had given me money from his inheritance when I was younger, insisting that I use it to secure a future of my own.
When Tyler and I purchased this property, my father had contributed the money that allowed us to buy it outright.
The legal ownership had been arranged in my name alone, with Tyler’s formal acknowledgment at the time.
It was never a secret.
Tyler knew exactly how the house had been acquired.
Rachel apparently knew enough to believe it could be taken from me.
