Something tightened in my chest, but I just nodded.
In my bedroom, the main one, Stella touched my things.
“This clock,” she pointed to the antique wall clock hanging by the window. “Is it valuable?”
“It was my husband’s. His grandfather gave it to him.”
“Hm. It is a bit old-fashioned, right? But surely we can sell it. These antiques are sometimes worth something.”
“It is not for sale.”
“Well, technically you do not live here anymore,” she laughed. A high-pitched laugh that drilled into my ears.
I packed my essential things that same afternoon. Clothes, important documents, Arthur’s and Steven’s photos. I took the wall clock too, wrapped in a blanket.
Steven came to help me load the boxes into his car. We worked in silence. The Torres family watched us from the living room, drinking beers, commenting on what they were going to change first.
“That kitchen is very outdated,” I heard Monica say. “It needs a complete remodel.”
In Steven’s condo, the one that would now be my home, I unpacked my things with mechanical movements. It was a nice space, two bedrooms, good lighting, but it felt alien, like a hotel where I was visiting. I hung the clock in the living room. Steven helped me level it.
“Mom, I know this is hard.”
“It is okay,” I lied.
“Vanessa promised it will be temporary. As soon as her parents get jobs…”
I did not answer. It made no sense.
During the next two weeks, Steven visited me every three days. He brought me food, asked me how I was. I smiled, said everything was fine, that I was adapting.
But I called my house, my old house, just to hear who answered.
The first time, Monica answered. “Hello.” Her voice sounded impatient. I hung up without saying anything.
The second time, Richard answered. “Torres residence,” he said with pride.
Torres residence. In the house I bought with the money from my dead husband’s business.
I hung up with trembling hands.
I started driving down my old street just to see, like someone visiting a grave.
One afternoon, I saw something that froze my blood. A truck from a pawn shop parked in front of my house. Two men were taking out furniture. My mahogany bookcase. The dining room table where we celebrated twenty of Steven’s birthdays. The chairs Arthur had varnished himself.
I called Steven immediately.
“They are selling my furniture.”
“What? No, there must be a mistake.”
“I am here. I see them. They are taking everything out.”
I heard him confronting Vanessa. Muffled voices. Then he came back to the phone.
“Vanessa says her parents needed money urgently. That you said they could dispose of what you did not take.”
“I never said that.”
“Mom… they are just things. Old furniture.”
“They were your father’s things.”
Long silence.
“I am sorry, but I cannot do anything anymore. They already took them.”
That night, I received a call from Mrs. Higgins, my former neighbor.
“Linda, I need to tell you something. That family… they are destroying your garden. They tore out all your bougainvilleas. They say they are going to make a modern terrace.”
The bougainvilleas I had planted twelve years ago. That I watered every morning. That I pruned with my own hands.
“I also saw they sold your wall clock,” Mrs. Higgins continued. “The one that was in the living room. I saw it in a Facebook post. They sold it for seven hundred dollars.”
“That clock was in my bedroom. I took it.”
“Then they had another one just like it, because it was definitely yours. It had the inscription on the back, right? For Arthur, with eternal love.”
My breath cut short.
They had entered the condo. They had stolen the clock while I was not there.
I called Steven. He did not answer. I texted him. He left me on read. I called Vanessa. She did answer.
“Linda, I do not know what you are talking about. My mom found that clock in a closet in the house. She thought you had left it because you did not want it.”
“Liar. I took it. You people entered my apartment.”
“Be careful what you accuse. You have no proof. And honestly, at your age, it is normal to forget where you leave things.”
She hung up.
I sat on the floor of my borrowed apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. And for the first time, I truly understood what kind of people I was dealing with.
They were not just opportunists. They were predators.
But I could be one too.
I took out my notebook, the hardcover one, and added a new page. Evidence of theft and violation of private property. Below, I began to write every detail, every stolen object, every lie.
The trap was ready. It was only missing for them to fall completely into it.
And they were missing exactly sixty-seven days for the trust clause to activate. Sixty-seven days for them to lose everything. Sixty-seven days for my revenge.
On day seventy-five, after the Torres family moved into my house, I called Attorney Collins.
“It is time,” I said simply.
