Shortened Version
When my parents passed away unexpectedly, I was nineteen and left to grieve alone in the only home I’d ever known. At the will reading, my distant Aunt Dina suddenly appeared—and to my horror, the house was supposedly left to her.
Days later, she showed up and demanded I leave. I had nowhere to go, while she made herself at home on our couch. I spent the night packing in silence, broken by her mocking presence. The next morning, as I stood by the door with my wilted peace lily, a limousine arrived—and with it, Uncle Mike. Seeing my distress after Dina’s social media claim, he’d investigated and discovered the will was forged—including the signature.
Police came immediately, arrested Aunt Dina, and with no valid will, the court ruled the house was mine. Not only did I regain the home, but Dina lost everything—her credibility and any claim to what she tried to take.
Uncle Mike guided me through the ordeal, reminding me I wasn’t alone. Now I live in the house again, nurturing herbs in the kitchen, watching the previously drooping peace lily bloom, and slowly breathing life back into each room—with Mike stopping by often to help and encourage me.
The pain of losing my parents remains, but I’m healing—and building a new life in the place where my memories live on.