My Stepmother Gave Me 24 Hours to Leave. She Had No Idea Where I Was Going.

Dad and I reached the Phoenix house twenty minutes later. Chloe was waiting outside, holding her phone. She had called for help as soon as she saw the contractor arrive.

The file cabinet sat on a dolly beside his truck. Gwendolyn stood near the front door.

Dad walked straight to the cabinet. “Those are my records.”

The contractor let go of the dolly. “She told me you wanted them stored while the office was remodeled.”

“There is no remodel,” Dad said.

Gwendolyn’s eyes darted toward Chloe. “You called them?”

“They’re Dad’s files,” Chloe said.

With everyone watching, the contractor returned the cabinet to the office. Dad checked the drawers. Some folders were loose, but they were there. He took photographs before closing it.

Gwendolyn stood in the hallway, shoulders rigid. “I was trying to fix the mess before it got worse.”

“By taking records out of the house?” Dad asked.

“I was scared.”

For once, I believed her. It didn’t excuse what she’d done.

Dad told her she could collect her personal things later, with someone else present. He had already spoken to an attorney about their marriage and the house. She took her purse and left.

Chloe followed me into the dining room. The table had been cleared since the night I moved out. Mom’s cherry wood cabinet still stood against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “For the room. The video. All of it.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

I looked upstairs. “You can stay in that room while Dad figures things out. But put Mom’s curtains back up. Please.”

Chloe nodded, tears gathering in her eyes.

Dad came in carrying a folder from the file cabinet. “I found something you should have.”

Inside was a note I had written Mom when I was eight, promising I would someday buy her a house with “windows everywhere.” She had kept it with the renovation plans.

Dad handed it to me. “She would’ve loved the place you bought.”