she said with a smug smile. “Blame the baby!” When I protested, all three of them turned on me. My brother yelled. My mother accused me of being heartless. Gwen cried and called me selfish — in my house. So I made one quiet call — to my Uncle Bob, who had once offered to buy the home. He still wanted it and moved fast. The next day, I walked into the living room where they were all watching TV and calmly said,

“I sold the house. You have 48 hours to leave.” You should’ve seen their faces. Rage. Shock. Desperation. But I didn’t flinch. They had taken advantage of me long enough. I moved into a small cottage across town with money from the sale — $2 million — and blocked their numbers. The texts calling me “heartless” kept coming, but I never responded. I don’t regret it for a second. Family isn’t about blood — it’s about respect.