The room went dead silent. “That’s impossible!” Mom shrieked.

I stood up slowly. “There’s no mistake. The house belongs to me.”

Emma’s face went white. “What?”

I reached into my purse and pulled out the deed. “I bought it from Dad over a year ago. Dad needed money, so I helped him. Legal sale, properly recorded. It’s been mine for fourteen months.”

“You’re lying!” Emma screamed.

The lawyer examined the deed. “This appears to be legitimate.”

“This can’t be real!” Mom snatched the papers, her voice shrill. “This is fraud! You tricked him!”

“Nobody tricked anybody,” I said calmly. “Dad needed help. I helped him. Simple as that.”

“You knew!” Emma was on her feet now, pointing at me. “You knew we thought we were getting the house!”

“You never asked. You just assumed. And speaking of which,” I said, my voice turning to ice, “you have two weeks to move out.”

“Two weeks?” Mom shrieked. “We can’t find a place in two weeks!”

“You should have thought of that before you threw my belongings on the lawn.” I walked toward the door.

Over the next week, my phone rang constantly. Mom crying and begging. Emma screaming and threatening. I ignored them all.

Two weeks later, I drove to the house. There was a moving truck in the driveway. When I walked inside, the place was stripped bare. They’d taken the furniture, the appliances, even the light fixtures and the toilet seats. The only things left were Dad’s books.

Emma saw me in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. “This is all your fault! We’re going to be living in some shitty apartment because of you!”

“You’re living in a shitty apartment because you spent all your inheritance on stupid crap instead of being responsible adults,” I replied calmly. They drove away without another word.

I stood in my empty house and smiled.

Over the next few months, I heard what happened. Mom had to go back to work full-time. Emma sold her Mercedes and got a job at a retail store. Tyler dumped her as soon as he realized she wasn’t rich anymore.

I’ve been living in the house for two years now. I’ve renovated it exactly how I wanted. The house where I never felt welcome is now my sanctuary. The family that threw me away is struggling while I’m thriving. Do I feel bad about it? Not really. They made their choices. I made mine. And if that makes me the villain in their story, I can live with that. Sometimes, the good guys really do win in the end