Chapter 13 - I Couldn’t Sleep In My Own Bedroom
The first night I tried to stay after everything, I lasted forty minutes.
New locks.
Cameras.
Alarm.
Clean sheets.
Still.
I lay in bed and imagined Aunt Liora’s suitcase.
Strangers.
My mother opening drawers.
Guests reading fake welcome sign.
Not physical danger.
Violation.
I drove back to Charlotte at midnight.
Tasha asked next shift:
“You sell?”
“No.”
“Want?”
“I don’t know.”
She said:
“Don’t let them decide that too.”
Good.
I hired deep cleaning.
Replaced mattress.
Not because contaminated.
Because I wanted change.
Painted bedroom myself.
Different color.
Removed guestbook.
Kept as evidence until release, then stored with attorney.
Removed fake sign.
Changed WiFi.
Changed furniture layout.
Small reclamations.
Then Mrs. Harris across cove brought cookies.
“I should have told you.”
“You thought I knew.”
“Some weekends didn’t look family.”
“I know.”
“I still should’ve asked.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then she gave her camera archive.
Her dock camera had caught cars arriving many weekends.
Not proof payments.
Corroboration.
She also saw Richard supervising cleaners.
Then:
“One time your mother told me you were too busy to manage.”
“Sounds like her.”
Mrs. Harris looked.
“I thought you were lucky to have parents helping.”
I laughed.
“So did they.”
Then I started using house again in daylight.
Coffee on deck.
No guests.
Then one weekend my parents’ old friend drove by and stopped.
“Arden, is Richard here?”
“No.”
“I thought this was his place.”
There it was again.
“No.”
“Oh.”
He left embarrassed.
Identity of house needed resetting.
Not publicly.
Just reality.
Then county property records still mine.
I printed deed.
Put in safe.
Not on wall.
I did not need prove to visitors.
Then one Saturday, I found myself grocery shopping for lake weekend.
My mother’s old command echoed:
Fill the fridge and behave.
I bought what I wanted.
No fresh flowers.
No Aunt Liora knee room.
May you like
No coolers.
The quiet came back slowly.
