PART9

On Thursday, Margaret received a letter from Linda.

It was addressed personally to her.

The letter was several pages long.

Linda described how much she loved the family, how difficult things had become, and how she believed everyone was acting out of emotion.

She even mentioned Margaret’s cancer treatment.

One paragraph caught my attention.

After everything we have done for this family, I find it heartbreaking that you would threaten your own brother’s marriage and his daughter’s future over a misunderstanding involving a property gift.

Margaret read the letter without changing her expression.

Then she placed it on the table.

“Interesting.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“She still hasn’t apologized for what she did.”

Instead, Linda had spent several pages explaining why everyone else was responsible for her actions.

Margaret picked up her phone and called David.

“I want the meeting next week canceled. And please send a written notice confirming that all discussions about my estate must go through you.”

After ending the call, she looked at me.

“There’s something I want you to understand, Lydia.”

“What?”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life arguing with people about what they think they deserve from me.”

She smiled sadly.

“I worked too hard for my peace.”

I nodded.

I understood that more than she knew.

The investigation took several weeks.

David worked with the relevant professionals to examine the disputed documents, compare signatures, and establish who had submitted them.

The property management company provided records confirming that my father had originally coordinated the apartment handover.

They also confirmed that Emma had been registered as an occupant based on the documents supplied to them.

However, the company had never transferred ownership to her.

The apartment had remained legally mine from the beginning.

The disputed letters were another matter.

Their signatures did not match my genuine signatures.

The original documents were preserved for further examination, and the matter was referred for appropriate legal review.

My father eventually admitted that he had delivered the letters to Margaret.

He claimed Linda had prepared them and told him they represented my wishes.

But when David asked him why he had never contacted me to confirm those wishes, he had no convincing answer.

Linda denied forging anything.

She said she had only helped organize paperwork.

Emma, however, provided the messages and recording she had preserved.

She also supplied copies of conversations in which Linda discussed persuading Margaret to sign financial authorization documents.

The evidence made it increasingly difficult for Linda to maintain that everything had been an innocent misunderstanding.

Then something happened that I hadn’t expected.

My father called me.

Not once.

Not twice.

Seven times.

I finally answered on the eighth call.

“Lydia?”

His voice sounded exhausted.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Can we meet?”

I was quiet.

“I want to apologize.”

I looked at the clock.

Danny was at school, and I was preparing to leave for work.

“About what?”

He sighed.

“Everything.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter.

“That’s a big word, Dad.”

“I know.”

“Do you understand what you did?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he said, “I should never have given Emma the keys.”

“That’s not everything.”

“I know.”

“You knew I was struggling. You knew Danny and I were living in a small apartment. You knew Aunt Margaret had bought that property for me. And you still helped Linda make it look like I had willingly given it away.”

His breathing became heavier.

“Lydia, I was trying to keep everyone happy.”

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The same excuse.

The excuse that had followed me since childhood.

“You weren’t trying to keep everyone happy, Dad. You were trying to avoid making Linda unhappy.”

He didn’t respond.

“And you made me pay for it.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

I looked through the window.

A mother was walking her little boy across the street, holding his hand tightly.

I thought about all the times I had wished my father would simply stand up for me.

When I was a little girl.

When I graduated.

When I became a mother.

When I needed him to show me that I mattered just as much as Emma.

I had waited so long for that man to choose me.

And now, after everything, I realized I couldn’t keep waiting.

“Did you ever ask yourself how Danny felt?” I asked.

My father was silent.

“He’s a little boy. He didn’t understand why his mother worked so hard. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t afford a bigger place. But he understood that his mother was always tired.”

I swallowed.

“You knew your grandson needed stability, and you still chose to give his home to someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Lydia.”

I believed he was sorry.

But being sorry wasn’t the same as changing.

“Are you still living with Linda?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still believe she did nothing wrong?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

That answer told me everything.

“Dad, I don’t hate you.”

He exhaled.

“But I can’t pretend we have the relationship we had before. I need time. And I need you to understand that you cannot come into my life whenever you want and expect everything to be normal.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you do.”

Then I ended the call.

I didn’t feel victorious.

I felt sad.

Sometimes the hardest thing about growing up is accepting that the parent you wanted may never become the parent you needed.

A month later, Emma contacted me again.

This time, she didn’t ask for money, the apartment, or forgiveness.

She asked whether we could have coffee.

I agreed.

We met at a small café near my workplace.

She arrived early and had already ordered two coffees.

She looked different.

She wasn’t wearing designer clothes or carrying the expensive handbag she had shown off at Christmas.

She looked tired.

But she also seemed more honest than I had seen her in years.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

I sat down.

“What did you want to talk about?”

She looked at her coffee.

“I moved out.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Where?”

“I’m renting a small studio near my university.”

“How are you paying for it?”

“I found a part-time job. I’m also taking responsibility for my own expenses now.”

I nodded.

“That’s good.”

She gave a small, uncomfortable smile.

“Mom isn’t happy.”

I didn’t respond.

Emma continued.

“She keeps saying you destroyed the family. She says Aunt Margaret manipulated you into taking everything.”

I stirred my coffee.

“And what do you think?”

Emma looked directly at me.

“I think Mom is still trying to make everyone else responsible for her decisions.”

For the first time, I saw her acknowledge something without making excuses.

She reached into her handbag and removed a small envelope.

“I brought this for you.”

I looked at it.

“What is it?”

“Copies of the messages Mom sent me before Christmas. I kept them because I thought you might need them.”

I opened the envelope.

There were screenshots of conversations between Linda and Emma.

One message stood out.

Your sister has always been too proud to ask for help. Let her keep her little rental. She won’t fight for the apartment because she doesn’t like conflict.

Another said:

Once Aunt Margaret believes Lydia is happy with the arrangement, we can discuss the next step.

I read them silently.

Emma lowered her head.

“I should have shown you these earlier.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I know.”

She paused.

“I also want to say something about Danny.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“I know he was excited about having his own bedroom. I saw the pictures Aunt Margaret posted of the apartment.”

I didn’t say anything.

Emma’s eyes filled with tears.

“I realized something. I had a beautiful place to live, but I never once thought about the little boy who was still sleeping beside your bed.”

I looked out the window.

“He’s happy now.”

“I’m glad.”

She wiped her cheeks.

“Lydia, I don’t expect you to forgive me today. I just want you to know that I understand why you don’t trust me.”

I studied her face.

For years, I had thought Emma was simply spoiled.

But now I could see something else.

She had grown up believing that everything would eventually be given to her.

She had never learned how to hear the word no.

And when someone finally challenged that belief, she had panicked.

That didn’t excuse what she had done.

But it helped me understand that she had a choice to make now.

She could continue blaming everyone else.

Or she could become a different person.

“I hope you build a good life for yourself, Emma,” I said.

She nodded.

“Thank you.”

“But I need you to understand something. Trust takes time. You can’t expect me to go back to how things were.”

“I understand.”

CONTINUE FOR FINAL PART…