PART 1: The Woman Who Came to Take My Father’s House
“You should start packing your things now, because once they read the will tomorrow, this entire estate will belong to us.”
Tabitha’s voice cut through the quiet morning air before I even looked up from the rose bushes I was tending.
Her expensive heels pressed into the damp soil of my father’s garden as if she were walking through a luxury showroom instead of stepping onto the ground he had cared for with his own hands for decades.
I kept working, carefully trimming away the damaged branches with my pruning shears. Slow. Precise. The exact way my father had taught me when I was a child.
“Never cut away more than you have to,” he always said. “Anything still alive deserves a chance to grow.”
Those words had stayed with me.
Especially now.
The white roses I was tending had been planted by my father on the day I married Calvin. He told me the flowers represented fresh beginnings and the promise of a beautiful future.
Years later, those same roses remained standing after everything else had fallen apart.
They survived my twelve-year marriage ending.
They survived the day Calvin walked away from me for his younger assistant.
And now they stood as Tabitha—the very woman he left me for—stared at me like she had already claimed everything my father built.
“Good morning, Tabitha,” I said calmly, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.
She smiled that fake, polished smile I knew too well—the one she used right before trying to make someone feel small.
“The reading of Everett’s will is tomorrow morning,” she said. “Calvin and I thought it would be better if we handled this conversation like adults before things become uncomfortable.”
I placed the shears down and slowly stood.
Even wearing heels that probably cost more than my entire gardening wardrobe, she was still shorter than me.
“There is nothing to discuss,” I replied. “This is my father’s home.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“Your father’s estate,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Her eyes scanned the property as though she was already imagining herself living there.
“Calvin was like a son to Everett for years. The least we can expect is to receive what he deserves.”
I felt my grip tighten around the shears.
“Are you referring to the same Calvin who betrayed his wife with his own secretary?” I asked.
My voice remained calm, but my patience was disappearing.
Tabitha rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. That was years ago. Everyone moved on.”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Everett forgave him. They continued spending time together at the country club every Sunday until the very end.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
The end had come far too soon.
Only three weeks had passed since we buried my father after his eight-month battle with illness.
Three weeks since I lost the man who had always protected me.
Three weeks since I still had unanswered questions about why my brother Kyle had suddenly grown distant and started siding with Calvin.
“My father didn’t leave Calvin anything,” I said confidently.
Because my father was many things.
Stubborn.
Old-fashioned.
Sometimes difficult.
But never foolish.
For the first time, Tabitha’s confidence slipped.
“We’ll find out tomorrow,” she said. “Especially since Kyle seems to have a different opinion.”
My stomach tightened.
“Kyle has been talking to you?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“Let’s just say he helped me understand your father’s condition during his final months.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
My father always told me roses required care. Strength, but not cruelty. A firm touch, but never one that caused unnecessary harm.
I looked at Tabitha and realized some people were nothing like roses.
“Leave my property,” I said. “Before I forget how to be respectful.”
She laughed quietly.
“Your property?”
The amusement in her voice was almost insulting.
“How adorable that you still believe you can keep everything for yourself while everyone else simply watches.”
“My father built this house,” I replied. “He planted every tree and created this garden with his own hands. This place means more than money.”
Her expression hardened.
“Grow up, Paige. Everything comes down to money eventually.”
She turned toward the gate.
“Tomorrow you’ll understand.”
Then she stopped and looked back.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Her smile returned.
“Calvin and I already have plans for the house once we move in.”
My heart sank.
“We’re going to modernize everything.”
She glanced at the roses.
“Starting with those outdated flowers.”
Her heels tapped against the stone walkway as she walked away.
I watched until she disappeared beyond the gate.
Only then did I look down and notice my muddy hand had crushed a few rose petals.
I immediately reached for my phone.
There was only one person I needed to call.
“Penelope? It’s Paige.”
The moment my father’s attorney answered, her tone became serious.
“What happened?”
“Tabitha came here.”
A pause.
“What did she say?”
“Exactly what we feared.”
I looked back at the house my father had loved so much.
“I need you to come over as soon as you can.”
“I’m already on my way,” Penelope said. “And Paige, remember something—your father was always several steps ahead of everyone else.”
After we ended the call, something caught my attention near the base of the rose bush.
Hidden beneath the leaves was a small envelope.
It was damp from the morning dew.
But the handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
My father’s handwriting.
My name was written across the paper.
My hands began to shake as I picked it up.
I didn’t know what was inside.
But somehow, I knew.
This wasn’t just a letter.
It was my father’s final move.
And whoever thought they were taking his home had no idea what he had left behind.
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