“What’s mine was inherited, Mark. It’s legally separate property, and I never added you to the title,” I said, stepping closer to him until he had to back up against the bed he had just made for his mother. “You threw my life out of a window. You told me to sleep on the couch in the house my dead father paid for.”
I turned to Linda, whose smug smile had completely vanished, replaced by a look of sheer horror as she realized her “brilliant son” was actually broke.
“The thirty minutes started two minutes ago,” I said, walking over to the door. “If your clothes aren’t out of my closets and both of your cars aren’t out of my driveway by then, I’m calling the police for trespassing, and I’m filing for divorce before the courthouse closes today.”
Mark tried to chase me down the hallway, begging, pleading, and crying about how he just wanted to make his mother proud. But as I walked out onto the lawn to gather my scattered clothes, I didn’t feel an ounce of pity. They wanted the master bedroom so badly; they could figure out how to share the backseat of Mark’s sedan.