When Dad passed, he left me his small house and gave his wife a separate sum of money. It wasn’t much, but it was his way of making sure both of us had something. For me, that house was more than property—it was a piece of him I could hold on to.
At first, I tried to be fair. I told her she could stay if she contributed to the expenses with the money Dad left her, or she could move in with her son. Instead of understanding, she lashed out, saying, “How dare you? I’ve lived here for years!” The words stung, but the truth was clear: the house was legally mine, and I couldn’t carry the burden alone. In the end, I made the hard choice to evict her.
