We retreated to the Corner Bistro, a small, warm coffee shop a block away. The smell of roasted beans and cinnamon felt alien to me now—luxuries from a past life. My father sat Miles at a small table with a large apple juice and a chocolate chip cookie that cost more than my daily food budget. Then, he sat opposite me, removed his gloves, and covered my trembling hand with his.

“Tell me,” he commanded. “All of it.”

And I did. I vomited the truth I had been choking on for sixty days.

I told him about Loretta Jenkins, my mother-in-law. How her “helpful visits” had curdled into demands. I explained how she discovered that my downtown condo—the legacy my grandmother left solely to me—was in my name only.

“She demanded I sign it over to Miles,” I said, tears dripping onto the table. “To ‘secure the family future.’ But really, she wanted Darnell to control it. When I refused… that’s when the nightmare started.”

My father’s grip on my hand tightened. “Go on.”