“Get out of my house!” my mother-in-law yelled, forgetting the apartment was actually a gift from my parents. What I did next made both her and her son deeply regret it.

I ended the call and stood still, listening to drawers slam and footsteps pacing the kitchen. Marta wasn’t backing down—she was settling in, as if the place already belonged to her.

I walked back out.

“Done talking?” she sneered. “Then start packing. I won’t tolerate you here much longer.”

“I’m not leaving,” I replied calmly, surprising even myself. “This is my apartment. And it will stay that way.”

“We’ll see,” she scoffed. “Thomas will tell the truth.”

For the first time, I smiled.

“The truth doesn’t need to be summoned,” I said. “It arrives on its own.”

When the front door opened, Marta jumped up. Thomas rushed in, tense and pale.

“What’s going on?” he asked, avoiding my eyes.

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