“Tomorrow,” I said softly, “things will change.”
Margaret nodded in approval. Daniel shook my hand for the first time in days.
Neither of them understood that comfort was no longer my goal.
Justice had been served.
The next morning, Margaret woke to the sound of knocking at her door.
Not the gentle kind, but firm, official, impossible to ignore.
Daniel rushed to open the door. Two people were standing outside: my lawyer, Eleanor Price, and a calm, professional real estate agent. Margaret appeared behind him, in her dressing gown, already irritated.
“What is it?” she asked.
Eleanor smiled politely. “Hello. I’m here on behalf of the owner.”
Margaret laughed. “Yes, she’s my daughter-in-law.”
Eleanor turned to me. “Mrs. Whitman, would you like me to continue?”
“Yes,” I replied.
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