The following morning, I made a list.
Not a complicated one.
Just the things Danny and I needed to move.
Our clothes.
His books.
The kitchen supplies.
My work uniforms.
The photographs.
The few pieces of furniture that were worth keeping.
I wrote everything on the back of an old grocery receipt.
Then I put it on the refrigerator.
Danny noticed it before breakfast.
"What's that?"
"Our moving list."
He smiled.
"Are we really moving?"
"Yes."
He looked toward the curtain.
Then he looked back at me.
"Will I still have my dinosaur books?"
I laughed.
"Every single one."
He seemed satisfied.
After breakfast, I began sorting through the kitchen.
I had collected more things than I realized.
Old containers.
Extra cups.
A collection of plastic bags.
A drawer full of utensils that never seemed to match.
I kept what we needed.
The rest went into a box.
Every few minutes, I found something that reminded me of how long we had lived there.
The little table where Danny did his homework.
The chair I used after long shifts.
The old lamp that flickered whenever I switched it on.
None of it was expensive.
But it had been ours.
I didn't feel ashamed of that home.
I had worked hard to keep it.
I simply knew we were ready for something different.
Around lunchtime, my phone rang.
My father.
I let it ring twice before answering.
"Hello, Dad."
"Lydia, we need to talk."
I continued folding a towel.
"About what?"
"About Christmas."
I waited.
He said Linda was upset.
He said Emma hadn't been sleeping well.
He said the entire evening had become a disaster.
I placed the towel into a box.
"Why are you telling me this?"
He went quiet.
Then he said he wanted to explain what had happened.
I told him I had already heard Linda's explanation.
He said it wasn't as simple as I thought.
I stopped moving.
"Then explain it."
He began talking about Emma's education.
He said she needed a place close to school.
He said she had been struggling.
He said Linda had been worried about her future.
I listened.
Then I asked whether he had remembered that the apartment belonged to me.
He didn't answer immediately.
"Of course I remembered."
I looked at the box beside me.
"Then why did you let her move in?"
He sighed.
He said the arrangement was supposed to be temporary.
I asked how temporary.
He didn't know.
I asked whether he had told Emma that she could stay until she finished school.
He said there had been discussions.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"So she thought she could keep it?"
He said he hadn't meant for things to go that far.
I closed my eyes.
That sentence bothered me more than I expected.
People often said they hadn't meant for something to happen after they had already allowed it to happen.
I told him I needed time.
He asked whether I was planning to move into the apartment.
I looked at Danny's dinosaur books.
"Yes."
He became quiet.
Then he asked whether we could discuss the matter before I made any decisions.
I almost laughed.
The decision had been made before I knew there was a decision.
Margaret had bought the property.
It was intended for me.
I was going to live there.
I told him that.
Then I ended the call.
I didn't feel relieved.
I felt tired.
Later that afternoon, Linda sent a message.
She said she hoped I understood that nobody had intended to hurt me.
She said the family had been under pressure.
She said Emma had become attached to the apartment.
I read the message twice.
Then I put my phone down.
I didn't answer.
I wasn't interested in arguing through text messages.
I wasn't interested in being told that someone else's attachment mattered more than the original owner's rights.
That evening, Danny packed his books.
He placed them carefully into a box.
One dinosaur book was too large to fit.
He tried turning it sideways.
Then he tried again.
I helped him.
"There."
He smiled.
"Perfect."
We taped the box closed.
I wrote his name on the side.
Danny.
He looked at it proudly.
Then he asked whether we could paint his new bedroom.
I told him we could discuss colors after we moved.
He wanted blue.
A very particular blue.
I promised we would look together.
That night, I checked the property folder again.
The documents were there.
The copies of the letters were there.
I made sure everything was organized.
I placed the folder in a separate bag that would stay with me.
I wasn't going to put those papers inside a moving box.
They were too important.
Before going to bed, I looked at the silver keychain.
It was lying beside my purse.
I picked it up.
The heart was still attached.
I thought about how easily I had believed that little object was the entire gift.
I had never expected four hundred thousand dollars.
I had never expected anyone to give me a home.
I had simply wanted my aunt to come back safely.
That was enough for me.
But now I understood something.
Sometimes the people who expect the least are the easiest people to take advantage of.
And I wasn't going to make that mistake again.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: My Son Chose Where His Bed Would Go Before We Had Even Moved a Single Box Into the Apartment
I Had Spent My Whole Life Being Called Independent, Until One Small Thank-You Made Everyone at Christmas Dinner Stop Talking
Part 10 of 20
