For the next week, I stopped guessing and started proving. I called the courthouse, requested copies, and printed Mom’s emails.
Then Ms. Hart, the social worker, called.
“Your father called it theft.”
“Rowan, your aunt filed for review.”
“Of course she did.”
“She says the house is unstable and you’re refusing family support. That raises flags when kids are involved.”
I looked at the sink full of dishes and the permission slips under a magnet.
“Good,” I said.
“Good?”
“Yes. I have something for the judge.”
“Your aunt filed for review.”
At the hearing, Denise wore navy and spoke softly.
“Your Honor, I worry about the children. Rowan loves them, but love cannot repair a leaking roof or feed hungry children.”
I placed Mom’s photo on the table.
“My mother worried too. That’s why she left this. She knew her sister would try to take what belonged to us. That’s what she’s been waiting for. To contest their estate.”
Denise’s face shifted.
The judge leaned forward. “Explain.”
“My mother worried too.”
“This was taken the day my parents refused Denise’s paperwork,” I said. “It was the same paperwork that gave her control over the house and money.”
“That isn’t what happened,” Denise snapped.
Mrs. Dalrymple stood behind me. “It is exactly what happened.”
Denise spun toward her. “You don’t know anything.”
Mrs. Dalrymple opened the folder. “I know your sister gave me copies because she was afraid of you.”
The room went silent.
I handed the judge the emails.
“You don’t know anything.”
Denise whispered, “Rowan, don’t do this.”
I looked at her. “You tried to split us up.”
“I tried to protect them.”
“No,” I said. “You tried to own what Mom and Dad left behind.”
The judge read while Denise touched her pearls and Warren stared at the floor.
Finally, the judge looked up.
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