in my kitchen after sleeping in my wife’s room.
“You helped me just enough to believe you had the right to take over,” I said.
She flinched.
Good.
Some truths should sting.
The attorney told me what the advocate had already implied.
Because they had lived there as family guests for more than two years, I needed to handle it properly.
Written notice.
Documented communication.
No lock changes without legal guidance.
No threats.
No shouting matches.
No letting them bait me into appearing unstable.
I listened.
I wrote everything down.
That was familiar ground for me.
Plans.
Paper.
Sequence.
Proof.
By the following week, the written notice was prepared.
I had it delivered in a way that created a record.
Ryan stood on the porch holding the envelope like it weighed fifty pounds.
The little American flag snapped behind him in the afternoon wind.
Cassie read over his shoulder.
She
