quietly said, “Richard, I strongly suggest—”
“No. She sits there acting like some victim. We raised her. We fed her. We put her through school.”
“I had scholarships.”
“We gave you a home!”
“I started paying property taxes at twenty-two.”
Dad’s face reddened.
“And Kayla gave us something to be proud of.”
The words hung in the room.
Even now.
After everything.
I nodded.
“Then Kayla can pay the loans.”
Nobody spoke.
Dad’s anger disappeared.
Because everyone knew she could not.
The buyer’s attorney cleared his throat.
“Unless ownership and
