After going through a painful divorce from my first husband and holding my little girl close, I honestly thought that having a happy, complete family just wasn’t in the cards for me anymore. But then I met Evan. He embraced my 3-year-old daughter, Lily, as his own — and two years later, we got married.

“My daughter bought this place using her divorce settlement. Remember that, Claudia? The one you gossiped about with the women at church? Yes, Evan and she both saved. But the down payment? That was hers. Legally, the deed is in her name. Only her name.”

A few guests gasped. Evan’s head shot up.

I saw the realization crash into him. He hadn’t asked whose name was on the deed. And I hadn’t told him—not out of secrecy, but self-preservation. After my marriage to Alex, I needed something solid. Something safe.

And now that decision was protecting Lily.

Lines in the Sand
Claudia’s lips curled. “She can’t possibly think she owns—”

“I do,” I said, finally finding my voice.

My mother nodded. “As the legal owner, my daughter decides who stays. And given your behavior, you’ll be leaving.”

Claudia looked to Evan, desperate. “You’d choose her over your own mother?”

Evan stepped forward, jaw clenched. “No. I’m choosing my family.”

Claudia’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Her plan had unraveled.

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