I Was The Temporary Guest In The Home I Helped Buy Chapter 04

I Was The Temporary Guest In The Home I Helped Buy Chapter 04

My phone was down to three percent.

I stood at the curb, about to call a rideshare, when a new Instagram post appeared. It was from Sabrina.

The photo showed one corner of the coffee table at the house, taken the day before. A document lay beside it.

Her caption read, [Mrs. Mercer says there’s a place for me in this home too.]

I opened the photo and zoomed in.

Enough of the title was visible on the document’s cover for me to make it out.

[PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT]

Farther down, I could make out half of a clause beneath a coffee cup.

[The $50,000 wire transfer shall be deemed a voluntary gift from Nora Bennett to Graham Mercer.]

The moment I understood what I was seeing, I stopped feeling the cold. All I could hear was something inside me snap.

I flagged down a cab and gave the driver the address of the house. He glanced at my stained dress but did not ask any questions.

When we reached the complex, the security guard recognized me this time. He hesitated, then opened the gate.

“Ms. Bennett, Mrs. Mercer said you wouldn’t be coming tonight.”

I stopped.

“Which Mrs. Mercer?”

The guard froze.

“Mr. Mercer’s mother.”

I nodded without asking anything else.

The door code had not been changed. When I went inside, the living room lights were on, and the coffee table was a mess.

The confirmation for my parents’ $50,000 wire transfer had been crumpled into a ball and tossed beside the trash can.

The supplemental agreement for the house had been torn in half. It had originally stated:

[Nora Bennett will contribute $50,000 toward the down payment, and the parties will make the mortgage payments jointly after marriage.]

Now water had soaked through the signature line, blurring my name into an illegible smear. A faint shoe print marked the page.

I crouched and picked up the pieces one by one, my fingers shaking uncontrollably.

My father had insisted that I keep that agreement.

He had said, “I’m not saying I don’t trust Graham. I just don’t want anyone taking advantage of you someday.”

At the time, I had laughed and told him he worried too much.

Now I knew he had seen the situation far more clearly than I had.

I photographed every fragment, along with the trash can and the coffee table.

One of the drawers had been left half-open. Inside was another document with the same cover as the one in Sabrina’s Instagram post.

[PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT]

I turned to the final page.

The signature line clearly read [Nora Bennett].

But it was not my handwriting.

The clauses above it were even worse.

[Nora Bennett voluntarily acknowledges that she has no ownership interest in any real property titled in Graham Mercer’s name.]

[The prior $50,000 transfer was a voluntary gift made during the parties’ relationship, and Nora Bennett waives any claim to its return.]

[After marriage, each party will retain sole control of their individual income, and the marriage will not alter ownership rights in the property.]

I stared at the document for a long time before letting out a sudden laugh.

Sabrina had not come over that day to taste-test the wedding menu.

She had come to test how much I would tolerate.

I called Graham. The phone rang for a long time before he finally answered.

His voice was low.

“I’m at the hospital. They just started Sabrina on an IV. Whatever it is, we can talk tomorrow.”

I stared at the document bearing my forged signature.

“Who prepared the prenup?”

The line went silent for two seconds.

“What prenup?”

“The one with my signature on it.”

I heard Sabrina cough softly in the background.

Graham’s voice immediately turned impatient.

“Nora, I already told you we can talk tomorrow. Do you have to start a fight tonight?”

I closed my eyes.

“That signature is forged.”

His voice hardened.

“Who would forge your signature? Maybe my mother had an attorney prepare a template and hadn’t shown it to you yet.”

“What are you even talking about? This is ridiculous.”

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“The supplemental agreement was torn up.”

“The money isn’t gone,” he said, his voice growing colder. “We’re about to be married and building a life together. If you insist on keeping score like this, why are we even getting married?”

He hung up.

I stood in the living room, and the house suddenly felt terrifyingly unfamiliar.

Then I noticed a grocery receipt in the trash. It listed crab legs, pineapple, and chocolate, all things Sabrina loved.

The final item was a pregnancy test.

The receipt was dated two days earlier.

The rewards account belonged to Graham Mercer.

I stared at the words [Pregnancy test] for a long time.

My period had ended two days earlier.

The opened packaging from the test was still in the trash, and the brand matched the one on the receipt.

I did not cry.

I did not break anything.

I simply photographed everything and uploaded the pictures to my cloud storage.

Then I messaged a college classmate who had become an attorney.

Me: [Can I sue someone for forging my signature?]

My classmate replied: [Yes.]

My classmate: [Don’t touch the evidence. Photograph and preserve the originals, then come to the firm tomorrow.]

I set down my phone and began packing everything I had left in the house.

My clothes, my mugs, my slippers, and the key fob by the entryway that I had always been afraid of losing.

In the end, I placed the key fob on the entryway table.

It had once felt like proof that I had a home there.

Now it was just a piece of plastic.

The door closed behind me. The motion-activated light in the hallway came on, then went dark again.

I did not look back.