I folded my arms, standing firm in the doorway as my stepmom fumed.
*”Okay, I’ll give it to you,”* I said with a sweet smile, *”but only if you pay me back every single cent I spent restoring this place. That’s four years of work, thousands of dollars, and countless sleepless nights. Sound fair?”*
Her mouth opened, then shut. I could almost see the gears turning in her head.
*”W-What? That’s ridiculous! It was my mother’s house! You can’t just take everything!”* she sputtered, her eyes darting around, probably for something valuable she could snatch.
*”Oh, but I *can*,”* I countered, pulling out the original contract. *”Because *you* sold it to me. And according to this, everything inside was mine too. Legally. You didn’t want it then, remember? You practically begged me to take this ‘dump’ off your hands.”*
Her face turned red.
Then came the relatives. Oh, the *relatives*.
*”You have to give back Grandma’s things!”* one cousin whined in the comments of my Facebook post. *”That dress is a part of our family history!”*
I took a deep breath before responding.
*”Where were you when this house was collapsing? When I was pulling out moldy carpets and rat nests? When I spent my savings just to make it livable? Funny how no one cared about ‘family history’ until I found something valuable.”*
Radio silence.
My stepmom left that day empty-handed, seething. She tried to drag me into a legal fight, but the contract shut that down *fast*.
And as for me? I wore that 1940s dress on my wedding day, twirling in the mirror, knowing that some treasures aren’t just found in the walls of a house. Sometimes, the greatest treasure is standing up for yourself—and *winning*.
