Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE MY MOTHER LEFT ME|
My question made everyone uncomfortable.
Owen glanced at the folder.
“It's our marital home, Natalie.”
“No. It's my house.”
He gave a tired sigh.
“We've been living here together for four years.”
“Living here isn't the same as owning it.”
My mother stepped forward.
“Sweetheart, this isn't the time to argue over property.”
I turned toward her.
“Then why did you bring a property agreement?”
She didn't answer.
I walked to the desk and opened the drawer where I kept the original deed.
The house had belonged to my grandmother. Before she died, she left it to my mother. My mother transferred it to me two years before Owen and I married, using a family trust.
Owen knew that.
He had even helped me repaint the kitchen.
But he had never owned a share.
I placed the deed on the table.
“This property is registered solely in my name. It was transferred to me before our marriage, and it was never added to our marital assets.”
Owen looked at the document.
“Why are you bringing this up?”
“Because you came into my home and asked me to leave.”
“We're trying to solve a problem.”
“Your problem.”
Brooke crossed her arms.
“Ethan and I don't have anywhere else to go.”
I looked at her.
“You have a house under renovation, two incomes, and a wedding that cost more than my annual salary. You'll survive.”
Her face flushed.
“That's unfair.”
I stared at her.
“You want my nursery for storage.”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
My father stepped between us.
“Enough. We're family.”
I looked at him.
“Where were you when I called from the hospital?”
He lowered his eyes.
“I didn't know it was that serious.”
“I told you my daughter had died.”
My mother began crying.
“Natalie, please. We are all grieving.”
I wanted to believe that.
But grief did not make people forget what they had done.
Owen picked up the folder.
“Fine. We don't need to decide tonight.”
He looked at me as though he expected me to soften.
I didn't.
“Leave.”
He stared.
“What?”
“Everyone. Leave my house.”
My father looked offended.
“Don't speak to your family like that.”
“Then don't treat me like a spare bedroom.”
Brooke grabbed her handbag.
“You're being selfish.”
I looked at her.
“I buried my daughter three days ago. If this is what you call selfish, then I don't know what word you'd use for cruelty.”
She turned toward Owen.
He said nothing.
That silence told me everything.
They left one by one.
Owen remained in the doorway.
“We'll talk tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Natalie—”
“You don't get to decide when we talk anymore.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he walked out.
When the front door closed, I returned to the nursery.
I sat beside the crib and held Lily's rabbit.
For the first time, I allowed myself to be angry.
Not just at Owen.
At the years I had spent making excuses for him.
At my parents for treating my needs as less important than Brooke's.
At my sister for believing that my home, my marriage, and even my grief were things she could rearrange.
My phone rang.
It was Rachel.
“How did it go?”
I looked at the empty crib.
“They wanted me to move out.”
“What?”
“And give Brooke the house.”
Rachel was silent.
Then she said, “Natalie, there's something you should know.”
“What?”
“I found out why Owen was so determined to stay at that rehearsal.”
My stomach tightened.
May you like
“Why?”
“Because Brooke wasn't the only person he was trying to keep happy.”
