Alice faces an unexpected battle when Jason’s estranged parents arrive, demanding the house he left behind. Grieving but resolute, she agrees to consider their claim—but only if they can answer the one question that troubled Jason until the end of his life.
Jason and I reached a turning point when we were seventeen. I’ll never forget when he showed up at my door, heartbroken and carrying nothing but a backpack, tears in his eyes.
His parents had cast him out without explanation. My mother saw immediately that he needed a home—and from that day, Jason became part of our family.
Through tough high school years and college pressures, we leaned on each other. I was fascinated by people and pursued human resources; Jason was a computer genius who could solve what I couldn’t. Together, we balanced one another.
Then, four years ago, life struck the cruelest blow: Jason was diagnosed with bone cancer. It felt like fate was evening the score after our good years.
Still, we stayed strong. I kept us afloat, working extra and covering the mortgage on the house Jason had bought.
Jason quietly hoped his parents might come around. They never did.
Only a month after Jason’s funeral, I was still mourning when his family showed up at my door—acting like they owned the place, the same people who had abandoned him when he needed them most.
Heart pounding, I opened the door. Susan, Jason’s mother, greeted me with a false sympathy that made my skin crawl.
“We were sorry to hear about Jason. It must be hard living here alone,” she said with practiced sweetness.
I nodded, unsure how to respond to the woman who never supported Jason.
Her husband, Charles, wasted no time. “We need to talk about the house,” he said coldly. “Jason was our son; the house should be ours.”
His words hit me like a punch. “The house is in my name. I’ve been paying the mortgage. It belongs to me.”
Their lawyer stepped in smoothly. “Legally, his parents can claim the house as next of kin if there’s no will.”
I couldn’t believe their audacity. “You ignored Jason when he was alive. Now you want his house?”
Susan’s mask slipped briefly. “We’re family. Jason would’ve wanted the house to stay with us.”
Fighting rising anger, I stayed calm.
“Jason transferred the house to me after he got sick. Everything was legal. You have no claim. If you want, I’ll repay what I paid him plus mortgage costs.”
Charles snarled, “We can’t afford that. We want the mortgage transferred to us. We’ll take you to court.”
I met his gaze. “Go ahead. But know this first.”
Their faces flickered with doubt. Good. They’d caused Jason years of fear—I’d return the favor.
I retrieved an envelope from a drawer, battered from use. “This is Jason’s last letter for you.”
Susan’s eyes lit with a mix of hope and greed. “A letter? What does it say?”
I handed it over. She hesitated, then read aloud, with Charles and Jason’s brother leaning in.
Jason’s letter said: “I’m sorry for not being the son you wanted. I forgive you for the pain you caused, and hope you can forgive yourselves. I’ve accepted things, though I wish they were different.”
The room fell silent under the weight of his words.
Susan finally said, “This isn’t what we expected.”
I smirked. “No, it isn’t. You came to take what wasn’t yours, trying to make up for lost time. Jason only gave you forgiveness, and you don’t deserve that.”
Charles’s anger flared. “Don’t act like you were the only one who cared while living in his house.”
I breathed deeply. “I’m not righteous, but I was there for Jason when you weren’t. If you want the house, answer honestly—why did you cut him off? Why reject his attempts at reconciliation? Until then, you have no claim.”
Their lawyer shifted uncomfortably. Charles struggled for words; Susan avoided my gaze.
She whispered, “Since he wouldn’t listen to us, we thought it best for him to live apart.”
No regret filled her voice.
They knew there was no excuse for what they did. I shook my head. “That’s never enough.”
Their lawyer cleared his throat. “We should leave. Nothing more to do.”
For the first time, I saw loss—not anger—in their eyes.
They left silently. I locked the door behind them, feeling both relief and sorrow.
Jason was gone, but I had protected his legacy from those who didn’t deserve it. That was something.
With a final breath, I secured the deadbolt—our house, not theirs. I would keep Jason’s memory alive here, always.
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