At my husband’s funeral, I barely held myself together, especially for our daughter Ellie. Holding her small hand, I clung to what little I had left. The casket lay still, too quiet, and I kept hoping someone would call it off. But death was real, and grief was just beginning.

Back home, the silence crushed me. My mother-in-law, Linda, appeared calm, but then she told me to leave. The house smelled like memories, yet I was already being erased. The funeral was barely over, and she was selling the only home Ellie knew.

The next day, a couple came to see the house. Legally, Linda had the right to sell it — my husband never changed the deed. Abby, my best friend and lawyer, helped me fight back. We made an offer and faced Linda, who thought she’d won too soon.

With the life insurance papers in hand, we turned the tables. Linda’s smug smile faded as she realized her mistake. I signed the final papers, steady and strong. Ellie’s laughter filled the house again — this time, it was truly ours.