PART4

I looked at Margaret.

She smiled.

“Of course it is.”

Danny ran to the bed and jumped onto it.

“Mom! I have my own room!”

Then he did something that nearly broke my heart.

He climbed off the bed, walked over to me, and whispered:

“Can I really keep it?”

I knelt in front of him.

“Yes, baby.”

“Even when we wake up tomorrow?”

“Even tomorrow.”

“Even when I go to school?”

I laughed through my tears.

“Even then.”

He threw his arms around my neck.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

I held him for a long time.

He didn’t know that his grandparents had nearly taken this away from him.

He didn’t know that his aunt had been sleeping in his bedroom while he slept beside a curtain.

He didn’t know that the people who were supposed to love us had decided our happiness was negotiable.

And I was grateful he didn’t.

But as I stood there holding my son, I made myself a promise.

He would never grow up believing that being treated unfairly was something he had to accept just because someone was family.

Not anymore.

About twenty minutes later, while Danny explored the apartment, Margaret asked me to sit with her at the kitchen island.

She opened her handbag and removed a thick folder.

“Lydia, there’s something else you need to know.”

I looked at the folder.

“What is it?”

“The apartment wasn’t the only thing your father and Linda were involved in.”

My stomach tightened.

“What do you mean?”

Margaret opened the folder.

Inside were copies of the purchase agreement, property registration documents, payment confirmations, and several letters.

She placed the first document in front of me.

“This is the purchase agreement. I paid $400,000 in full. There is no mortgage.”

I looked at the figures.

Four hundred thousand dollars.

My aunt had spent that amount to give me and Danny a home.

Then she placed another document beside it.

“This is the registration confirming that the apartment belongs to you.”

I scanned the page.

My full legal name was printed there.

LYDIA CARTER.

I stared at it.

“So why did Dad have the keys?”

“Because I trusted him to help coordinate the handover while I was traveling. I was overseas, and I wanted the apartment prepared before your birthday.”

“Did you tell him everything?”

“Yes. I sent him the purchase documents, the building information, and the instructions for the handover.”

I looked up.

“And he gave the apartment to Emma?”

Margaret nodded.

“Apparently.”

I felt anger rising again.

“How could he do that?”

Margaret didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she pulled out another document.

“This is where things become more serious.”

I looked down.

It was a letter.

The heading read:

ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF PROPERTY GIFT.

I began reading.

The letter claimed that I had received the apartment, accepted it as a gift, and voluntarily agreed to let Emma occupy it temporarily.

At the bottom was a signature.

My signature.

Or something that looked like it.

I leaned closer.

“What is this?”

“Do you recognize it?”

I shook my head.

“I never signed this.”

“I know.”

“Who wrote it?”

Margaret pointed to the date.

“It was submitted to the property management office approximately two months ago.”

I looked at the signature again.

It was close enough to fool someone who didn’t know my handwriting.

But I knew my own signature.

The capital L was wrong.

The final stroke was too short.

And the date was particularly disturbing.

Two months ago, I had been working double shifts because one of the nurses on my floor had taken medical leave.

I hadn’t even visited my father’s house during that period.

Someone had created a document in my name.

Someone had used it to make Emma’s occupation of my apartment appear legitimate.

“Margaret,” I whispered, “are you saying someone forged my signature?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I stared at the paper.

Then another thought came to me.

“Did you know about this before tonight?”

“I discovered it three days ago.”

“Three days?”

She nodded.

“Your father called me after I returned from Europe. He told me that you had received the apartment and were happy with it.”

My heart sank.

“He told you I was happy?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed him?”

“For a few days, I did. He said you were busy with work and Danny, so you hadn’t had time to visit me. Then I asked him to send me a photograph of you in the apartment.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me you were uncomfortable sharing photographs of your home.”

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because the excuse was so ridiculous.

Margaret continued.

“Something didn’t feel right. I contacted the property management office directly. That’s when I learned Emma had been registered as the occupant.”

I looked toward Danny’s bedroom.

He was arranging his dinosaur toys on the desk, completely unaware of the conversation.

“What happened next?”

“I asked for the documents. They sent me the acknowledgment letter. I immediately knew something was wrong.”

She paused.

“Then I contacted my lawyer.”

I looked back at her.

“Your lawyer?”

“Yes. He reviewed the ownership records and confirmed that the apartment had been purchased and registered in your name. Emma had no ownership rights.”

I felt my hands go cold.

“So why did Linda act like she could decide who lived there?”

“Because she believed you would never challenge her.”

That sentence stayed in the air between us.

Because it was true.

My entire life, I had avoided arguments.

When Emma took my clothes, I said nothing.

When Linda forgot my birthday, I pretended it didn’t matter.

When my father canceled plans with me because Emma needed something, I told him I understood.

I had spent so many years being the easy daughter that they had forgotten I was a person with feelings, rights, and limits.

And they had mistaken my patience for permission.

Margaret closed the folder.

“Lydia, I want you to understand something. You don’t need to decide everything tonight. But you should know exactly what happened.”

I nodded.

Then I asked the question that had been bothering me since Christmas dinner.

“What about the letters you said they forged?”

Margaret reached into the folder again.

There were three printed letters.

Each one supposedly written by me.

One thanked Margaret for the apartment.

Another confirmed that Emma could stay there.

The third said I preferred to continue renting my current place because it was closer to my workplace.

I read them one by one.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART5…