“Finally, your house is mine,” my sister declared in court.
“Your little real estate game ends here.”
Those words burned themselves into my mind and refused to fade.
The voice belonged to my brother-in-law, Chris Irving, who was sitting in the plaintiff’s seat with a triumphant look on his face. He had whispered that poison into my ear just minutes ago, right before the hearing began. He entered the courtroom with his family in tow and passed by me for a fleeting instant.
Before I could even respond, the bailiff announced the opening of court and Judge Brown entered.
It was an insult delivered with perfectly calculated timing.
Beside Chris, my biological sister, Nicole, wore a satisfied smile. In the gallery, our parents nodded stiffly, as if asserting what they believed to be their daughter’s rightful claim.
The trial was unfolding in their favor, exactly as they intended.
His lawyer was presenting a carefully fabricated story of lies.
“Miss Tracy Manning has long exhibited extreme emotional fluctuations. She alternates between periods of rational clarity and periods of impulsive instability.”
The lawyer continued in a voice heavy with feigned sympathy.
“This contract was signed during one of her rational phases. At the time, she stated, ‘This is a vacation home for the whole family,’ and signed of her own free will.
“However, recently she has entered another unstable phase and is now attempting to renege on this legitimate promise in order to monopolize a valuable asset.”
It was flawless logical armor.
Because I was unstable, I needed a guardian. But because the contract was signed when I was rational, it was valid.
They dismissed the blood, sweat, and tears of my eight years of work as nothing more than the impulsive purchase of a fickle woman. Worse, they were trying to redefine even my sanity in whatever way suited them.
Chris looked at me, the corner of his lips twisting into a smirk. His eyes said it clearly.
We are the ones who write the story of your life.
This is what they called everything I had built.
Tracy’s little real estate game.
I simply sat there in silence, watching their farce unfold.
Judge Brown lowered her gaze to the contract that had been submitted.
Her eyes stopped dead on the section listing the property details.
A brief silence fell.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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