Bituin

My sister walked into court convinced she was about to take the house I bought with years of hard work, while my parents proudly supported her. Then the judge reviewed the document and asked, “Is this just one of your properties?” and suddenly nobody was smiling anymore.

“When we walk out of here, that house won’t be yours anymore, Felicia. Maybe then you’ll finally understand that you’re not the one in charge in this family.”

Isabella whispered it in my ear just before the court clerk called our case. She said it with such a calm, confident smile, like she could already picture herself drinking coffee on the terrace of my house in Sedona, staring at the mountains from a chair she had never paid for.

My mother, Beatrice, sat behind her with an expensive handbag on her lap and that proud look she only ever gave Isabella. My father, Walter, pressed his lips together seriously, like he was the moral judge of the entire family.

To them, I was always the difficult daughter. The one who left home without asking permission. The one who didn’t get married by twenty-five. The one who chose to build a real estate management company instead of hosting family dinners to impress the aunts.

Isabella, on the other hand, was “the blessing.” The sweet daughter, the perfect wife, the one who constantly needed financial help but was never criticized for it. If Isabella cried, everyone rushed to comfort her. If I cried, they told me I was strong and shouldn’t exaggerate.

The house in Sedona was the only thing they thought I owned. A beautiful house with white walls, bougainvillea at the entrance, and a small swimming pool I bought after years of working Sundays, Christmases, birthdays, and even through sickness. It was my peace. My reward. My silence.

And now my sister, together with her husband Marcus, was trying to steal it with a forged document.

We entered the courtroom. Marcus walked as if he owned the building. He wore a gray suit, polished shoes, and the expression of a man who believed money and connections could buy anything. As he passed me, he muttered:

“You should avoid making a scene. Your parents are already disappointed enough in you.”

I said nothing. I sat beside my lawyer, Gregory, a calm man who had spent weeks telling me:

“Let them talk first.”

Judge Katherine Halloway entered, and everyone stood. Isabella’s attorney began in a solemn voice:

“Your Honor, my client requests enforcement of a private agreement signed by her sister, Felicia, in which she voluntarily transferred the family property located in Sedona, considering the defendant has no children and no family project that justifies keeping a property of such value.”

I felt my mother nodding behind me.

There it was. The real wound. To them, a woman without a husband or children did not deserve a large house. Certainly not a beautiful one. And definitely not one her favorite sister had envied for years.

The lawyer handed over the document. My supposed signature appeared at the bottom, crooked and awkward, as if someone had copied it in a hurry.

Isabella wiped away a fake tear.

“I only want her to honor what she promised,” she said. “That house should stay in the family.”

The judge examined the paper without emotion. Then she looked at another document. Her brow furrowed. She turned another page and finally looked up at me.

“Miss Felicia, this property appears to be registered under a holding company.”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

Isabella stopped crying.

The judge read again.

“Is the Sedona property just one of your holdings?”

Silence filled the room.

I looked at my sister. Then at my parents.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I replied. “One of twelve.”

Isabella’s smile vanished as if someone had ripped the mask off her face.

I couldn’t believe what was about to happen next…

What would you have done if your own family tried to take away everything you spent years building?

Thank you for reading this far 🙌📖 This is only the beginning… The next part is already in the comments 👇🔥 If you can’t find it, click “View all comments” 💬✨