I Was Still Away Recovering When My Children Talked About Their “Early Plans” And Selling Everything From The TV To The Beach House. But The Shock Came When The Notary’s Office Called To Inform Them: “The Property Has An Owner – And It’s Not ANYONE IN THE FAMILY.”

Perhaps there was still hope for my youngest. They stayed only fifteen minutes. Their obligation fulfilled.

As they filed out, I heard Daniel’s phone ring in the hallway. “What do you mean there’s a problem with the title?” His voice rose in frustration. “That’s impossible.

My parents owned that house for thirty years.”

I smiled faintly as their voices faded. The wheels of consequence were beginning to turn. The next morning, I awoke to find a text message on my hidden phone.

Arrived in LA, meeting with Harold first. Will come to hospital this afternoon. Stay strong.

David. David. Just seeing his name brought comfort—like a life raft in the stormy sea my life had become.

My children didn’t know about him. Had never bothered to learn about the promises I’d kept beyond our immediate family circle. Jenny arrived for my physical therapy session, her cheerful energy a welcome distraction from my troubled thoughts.

“You’re doing remarkably well, Mrs. Sullivan,” she observed as I successfully lifted my right arm above my head. “Dr.

Patel says you’re progressing faster than expected.”

“Motivated,” I replied, finding it easier to form single words than complete sentences. “I can see that.”

Jenny helped me sit up on the edge of the bed. “Is it the house?

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