Not easily.
But firmly.
Margaret never returned.
And the house remained.
Not as power.
As a reminder.
That love without respect rots.
That helping doesn’t mean allowing yourself to be used.
And that one day, a woman stops asking for her place—
and decides who gets to stay.
Now, every Sunday, Evan runs to hug me.
Sometimes he shows me drawings of “Grandma’s house.”
I always smile.
Because one day, he’ll understand:
I didn’t destroy my family that day.
I saved it from the people who were already tearing it apart.
