If they arrest me, I thought, what happens to Julia? Who takes her? Not them. Please, not them. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice even as the questions began.
“Do you prepare meals for your grandmother?”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “I always have.”
“Were you alone with her before she signed those documents?”
“Yes. But not during. The man in her room that morning was her lawyer.”
The questions weren’t unfair, but the way the officers’ pens scratched across their notepads, the way they traded looks, it felt like guilt was already written on my forehead. From down the hall, I caught fragments of Grandma’s voice through her door. Clear. Steady.
By the time the officers came back out, their expressions had shifted. The suspicion was gone, replaced by something harder. They weren’t looking at me anymore. They were looking at my parents.
And then Grandma insisted on coming out herself. She leaned on her cane, but her voice was iron. “No one forced me. I asked my lawyer here myself. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I changed my will because it’s my right to do so.”
Silence. Then she turned her gaze on my parents. “The only abuse in this house is the way you treat Megan and that child.” If words could slap, that one landed hard.
The APS worker closed her folder with a snap. “I don’t see any concerns here. Everything appears in order.”
The officers nodded, polite but firm. “Thank you for your time. We’re satisfied there’s nothing further for us to pursue.”
Relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed. I pulled Julia into my arms the second she was back by my side. She buried her face in my shoulder, trembling. But the relief didn’t last long, because Grandma wasn’t finished.
She turned on my parents, her voice sharper than I’d ever heard it. “To call the police on your own daughter? To lie about me? To put my great-grandchild through this?” She shook her head, fury radiating from her. “You don’t belong under my roof!”
Mom gasped, clutching the back of a chair as if she might faint. Dad opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“You’ll move out,” Grandma said flatly. “I don’t care how. But you will.” It wasn’t a suggestion. I’d never seen my parents speechless before.
Later, when the officers left and the front door clicked shut, the silence returned. But it wasn’t the same silence as before. This one was jagged, dangerous. My parents sat rigidly at the table, their faces pale, their eyes darting between me and Grandma like they couldn’t decide who to hate more.
Julia pressed closer to me. “Are we okay now?” she whispered.
I kissed her hair. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. For the first time, I believed it.
Of course, I didn’t know exactly what would happen next. Would they fight? Contest the will? Spread more lies? Probably. But the tide had turned. Their attempt to erase me had failed. Their attempt to erase Julia had backfired. And now? Now they were the ones being erased.
A week later, the silence broke. Not with yelling, not with slammed doors, but with threats. My parents circled me in the kitchen like vultures, hissing promises. “You’ll regret this. We’ll make sure they take Julia away from you. You think you’re safe? You’re not.”
I didn’t flinch, but Julia heard. She sat on the stairs, clutching her stuffed bunny, her eyes wide. That was the last straw.
Grandma called her lawyer the next morning. By noon, two officers were standing in the doorway while my parents stuffed clothes into suitcases. It wasn’t dramatic. No screaming, no dragging. Just the sound of zippers and the snap of a folder as an officer handed them a no-contact order.
“You’ll have to find somewhere else,” Grandma said coldly. “And you’ll leave Megan and Julia alone.”
They left under police supervision. That night, Julia slept through without waking once. Her first full night’s sleep in weeks.
Fast forward six months. Word travels in families, especially ours. A cousin called me, half-whispering like she was passing on state secrets. “They asked Becky for help.”
I nearly dropped the phone. Of course they did. Becky, the golden child. The one they’d poured every penny into. “And?” I asked.
“And she said it’s not a good time. Money’s tight.”
Money’s tight. After everything they gave her—a house deposit, renovations, furniture—now, when they had nothing, she suddenly couldn’t spare a dime. I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did.
By the end of the month, the whispers grew louder. My parents were seen at a shelter. Later, someone mentioned a dingy rental in the rough part of town. The irony? After losing everything, they didn’t fit into Becky’s perfect picture either.
Meanwhile, Julia and I live downstairs with Grandma. She has her own small room now, painted soft yellow. Every night she decorates the walls with new drawings. In the mornings, I watch Grandma beam at Julia over breakfast, smiling at her like she’s the only child in the world that matters.
We are not rich. We are not glamorous. But for the first time, we are safe. We are a family.
