The new year, 2025, had arrived. Both Yugh and Anisa were buried in the relentless demands of their respective lives, Anisa in her business, Yugh in his surgical duties, their grief channeled into exhausting work.đ
One evening, Anisa had just returned home, sinking into the living room sofa to rest, when a shriek pierced the quiet. It was Zayan's sister.
"Mom! Mom! Look at this! This woman sold my brother's property! She sold the house he lived in with her!" đŁ
Anisa's exhaustion evaporated. She walked towards the commotion to find Zayan's sister standing triumphantly before Anisa's open wardrobe, clutching a sheaf of documents.
"What are you doing in my room?" Anisa demanded, her voice low. đ
"I needed a white top. I was looking for one. And then I found this!" she sneered, waving the papers.
Hearing the raised voices, Zayan's mother hurried in. "What is it, daughter? What's the problem?" đ€
"The problem, Mom, is that she sold our brother's house! Look!" The sister thrust the deed transfer papers forward.
"That's enough!" Anisa snapped, striding forward and snatching the documents from the sister's hand. "This is my property. Left to me by my husband. I will do with it as I see fit. It is none of your business." đĄ
"Oh, Anisa, dear, you wouldn't have really sold it..." the mother began, her voice laced with fake tears and feigned hurt.
Anisa cut her off, her patience a thread that had finally snapped. "I've tolerated you both living in my space, pretending to care, for months. But no more. Your performance of affection was always about these assets, and we all know it. And for your information, I didn't sell it. I donated it to a religious charity." đ
"You foolish girl! You just gave it away!" the sister wailed, her composure shattering. "You're the one who killed my brother! You're destroying us!"
"Watch your mouth," Anisa said, her voice like ice. "For years, I respected your age. For the four years Zayan was with me, you barely glanced his way. You only came running after he died, smelling an inheritance. You have no claim here." â
"No, dear, we would neverâ" the mother tried again, but Anisa was done.
"Get out of my house," Anisa stated, her tone final and unwavering. "Now." đ
"We have rights! He was my brother!" the sister screeched, refusing to budge.
"Then I will have the police escort you out. Pack your things and leave before I make that call. You're not welcome here anymore."
Her voice did not tremble. The house seemed to shake with the force of her declaration. The kind, accommodating, grieving widow was gone. In her place stood a woman who had finally drawn a line, her compassion replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve. The pretense was over. đ„