Two officers arrived that same night and took our statements while I spoke from the hospital bed with a trembling voice.
I repeated every word my mother, father, and sister had said to me, and Eric provided the photos along with the medical report.
He also showed them messages from Brittany where she insisted that her child deserved the best room and that I was taking up space.
When the officers asked why I was staying at my parents’ place instead of my own, Eric explained everything clearly.
Our apartment was under repair, and I had believed I would receive support from my parents during recovery.
What my family had never told anyone was that the apartment in Houston did not truly belong to them anymore.
Seven years earlier my father’s business had collapsed, and the bank was ready to take their home.
Eric and I had taken a loan shortly after our wedding, paid off the debt, and placed the property under our ownership.
My parents continued living there only because we allowed it, and they were supposed to cover utilities and basic upkeep.
They never shared this truth with anyone, and Brittany continued believing it was their home.