to make decisions for me.
Instead, I opened my phone and sent the message I had been composing since the soldier’s salute.
It went to my parents, Harper, and Julian.
The message stated that no room in the house could be converted into a business office, no personal property could be removed or relocated, and no one had permission to represent themselves as an owner of the home.
It also informed my parents that I was withdrawing their open-ended permission to live there and would follow the ordinary required process for their departure.
I did not invent a deadline in the driveway or ask soldiers to enforce a family dispute.
I simply created a record that no one could later rewrite.
Four phones sounded within seconds.
Julian read his first.
Then he looked at Harper.
“You told me your parents owned this place.”
Harper lowered her voice.
“They practically do.”
