“Why is my blankie outside?” she whimpered.
I rushed to the front door. My key no longer worked.
I pounded on the door. Eleanor opened it calmly. “I thought you’d get the message. This house is mine now. You and your brats need to leave.”
“This is our home!” I cried.
“It was my son’s. You have no claim.”
She smirked. “Sue me. Oh wait — you can’t afford to.”
Then she shut the door in our faces.
That night, we slept in the car. I told the kids it was like camping. Ava cried herself to sleep. Noah stayed awake, watching the parking lot lights.
“Dad wouldn’t let this happen,” he whispered.
“And I won’t either,” I said.
The next morning, I called Jason’s lawyer, David.
“She did what?” he exploded.
I explained everything, holding back tears.
“Did Jason have a will?”
“Yes. Please tell me he left something.”
“He did. He updated it six months ago.” …
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