After Mr. Harrison died, Cynthia felt the worst was over. She had no notion that Mrs. Davies and her grown children would worsen her pain. Mrs. Miller arrived with the unexpected.
Cynthia lived with Mr. Harrison after her parents divorced.
Not because she disliked her mother. She did. But Mrs. Miller was moving out of state, and Cynthia didn’t want to lose her school, friends, or room. Mother and father understood.
Cynthia sought to make Mr. Harrison’s marriage work with Mrs. Davies. Mrs. Davies didn’t.
She scarcely tolerated Cynthia. Her phony smiles and stinging tone persisted.
Like saying, “You left your plate in the sink, again,” but in a sugary-sweet voice that shouted, You’re not wanted here.
Even her adult children, Leo and Chloe, were awful. They walked in like they owned the place, eating Mr. Harrison’s food, cranking up the TV, and staring at Cynthia like she was a stray dog he hadn’t kicked out.
Cynthia was protected by Mr. Harrison.
Always.
He never let Cynthia be pushed. Mr. Davies would deflect if she got snippy. Mr. Harrison would quickly stop Cynthia’s stepbrother Leo from being sarcastic. He shielded Cynthia from everyone. This made it bearable. That got home.
He died.
Just like that. Random Tuesday heart attack. When the funeral came, Cynthia was still shocked. She felt like she was floating, zoning out.
Standard fare: He was a good man. He adored you. His situation has improved. Cynthia wanted to scream at them.
Cynthia refused to return home after the service. There were too many memories. Too much stress. She spent the night at her best friend Sarah’s house a few blocks away.
Sarah’s family knew Cynthia needed time to think.
The next morning, Cynthia walked home.
Something was wrong, she should have known. The driveway was vacant, but the porch was full.
All Cynthia’s stuff. Clothes, books, an eight-year-old photo of Cynthia and Mr. Harrison fishing, and more were wasted in cardboard boxes.
A sweater she thought she lost was partly out of a package.
It confused Cynthia, who blinked. What the…?”
Dropping her luggage, she ran to the door.
Locked.
Cynthia shook the door and knocked harder. Mrs. Davies appeared with arms crossed and a smug smile when the door opened.
Leo smirked against the hallway wall behind her. Sitting on the stairs inside, his sister Chloe scrolled through her phone without looking up.
You didn’t think you’d stay here, right? Mrs. Davies tilted her head. The residence is for family.
Cynthia opened her mouth but said nothing.
“This was your father’s home,” she said. Now that he’s gone, I’m his wife, and my family needs to move forward. I suggest you follow.”
Cynthia was devastated. Also homeless. Just days after her father’s burial.
She murmured, “You’re kicking me out?”
Chloe gently giggled, looking up from her phone and grinning at Cynthia. Leo smiled similarly.
The voice broke as Cynthia said, “You have no right.
Mrs. Davies laughed. “Oh, sweetie. I do. Take your belongings and depart. Unless you do, I’ll contact the police.”
She closed the door in Cynthia’s face. Cynthia ran to fetch her backpack, a clothes tote bag, and the framed picture of Cynthia and Mr. Harrison, knowing she would keep her promise.
Dropping it once due to shaking fingers. While in the yard, she felt watched. Mrs. Thompson, their neighbor, watched from her porch.
She softly appeared and said, “If you need somewhere to go, I have a spare couch.”
Cynthia should have gone back to Sarah’s, but she was too surprised to more than nod and thank the lovely older woman.
Cynthia hugged her knees to her breast on Mrs. Thompson’s couch that night, the porch light barely reaching the living room window.
She felt little. Lost. Like all her foundations had collapsed.
And she took out her phone. She resisted.
Mrs. Miller couldn’t take time off work to support Cynthia at Mr. Harrison’s funeral. Cynthia had no other option.
Then she called her mother.
“Mom?” Mrs. Miller concerned when Cynthia’s voice broke. No, I’m OK. Not really. Mrs. Davies replaced the locks. She expelled me since the residence is for family.”
“What?!”
Since you couldn’t come due to work, I’m at Mrs. Thompson’s. I suppose I could take a bus tomorrow—
“No,” Mrs. Miller stopped Cynthia. “You stay. Coming in a few hours.”
She hung up. She drove overnight.
Cynthia heard her mother’s car arrive into Mrs. Thompson’s driveway around six the next morning. Barefoot, she ran outside.
Cynthia ran to her mother after she left.
Cynthia was quiet for a moment. Neither did her mother.
Her mother backed up and glanced at Cynthia.
Sweetheart, I must inform you. She mentioned something he didn’t want you to know. There’s more he didn’t want Mrs. Davies and her kids to know.
Cynthia blinks. “You mean what?”
Her mother inhaled deeply. I didn’t drive up for your dad’s burial due to our separation, Sweetie. I betrayed him. Neither would he have wanted me. We parted on bad terms but hid it. None of us wanted you to know the truth,” she said, avoiding Cynthia’s gaze. “I was ashamed, too.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Cynthia grumbled. This was not the moment for a bombshell!
“I know. I was terrible, but I’m telling you because,” she swallowed. I wanted to do something right. In one big amount, I paid off the mortgage following the divorce. Even though the deed was in my name, I told your father it would always be his and yours.”
Shaking her head, Cynthia left her mother. “Dad allowed that? Even after…?
“Yes, but it was always his intention to gift it to you one day,” her mother said.
“I’m shocked.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mrs. Miller said. Cynthia, your dad never owned that house, so Mrs. Davies doesn’t. I brought the deed to prove it.”
At that point, Mrs. Thompson spoke. Why not both come inside? You seem to have a real eviction to sort out, she added, smiling between them.
Finally, Cynthia smiled. “Okay,” she exhaled.
They waited until weekend. Mrs. Davies and her children left.
Mrs. Miller phoned a locksmith Saturday morning.
Cynthia watched him change the locks. Saw Mrs. Miller calmly instruct a moving firm to carefully pack Mrs. Davies’ and her kids’ belongings and arrange them on the lawn.
On Monday morning, Cynthia heard their car arrive.
She needn’t look. She heard screams.
“What the hell?!” A siren-like voice came from Mrs. Davies.
Cynthia looked through the window. Mrs. Davies wore slippers and a travel hoodie, her eyes droopy. Leo shouted behind her, and Chloe cried.
This is our home! Davies screamed. “Open this door now!”
Mrs. Miller slowly exited with the deed in one hand. “Oh,” she answered calmly. “I think there was a misunderstanding. This isn’t your home.”
Mrs. Davies gasped at the paper. What’s that?
“It’s the house deed,” Mrs. Miller said. “I own it. See? My ex-husband never did. You wrongfully evicted my daughter. Just fixed your mistake.”
Leo barged past her with an angry dog sound.
He was blocked by Mrs. Miller. “You get closer, and I’ll call the police.”
He ceased.
They lasted 10 minutes. Mrs. Davies wept. Wailing, Chloe fell upon a crate. Another neighbor must have contacted the police for the noise.
They had to explain everything as Mrs. Davies, Leo, and Chloe played victim to the cops. They had nothing to back them.
Police ordered them to leave, so they packed and drove away. Cynthia and her mother watched from home.
Cynthia could breathe again once they left and sat on the couch.
You okay? Mrs. Miller asks.
Cynthia nods. “Better.”
She grinned. Now that’s done, we’ll acquire the deed in your name when you’re 18. Only a couple weeks away. I wish you an untouchable future.”
No immediate response from Cynthia. Just hugged her mom.
She didn’t care about her mother’s background then. That can wait.
At home, she could grieve her father safely and comfortably.
