I turned—and there he was. Logan. Arms wrapped around a younger woman, laughing like the past five years meant nothing. Rage surged through me. I was at their table in seconds.
“Logan, are you serious right now?” I said.
He didn’t flinch. In fact, he smirked.
“Finally,” he said. “Now you know. I’m in love with someone else. It’s over.”
No apology. No emotion. Just a gut-punch of betrayal. Lola pulled me away before I could cause a scene, and I cried myself to sleep on her couch.
The next morning, I drove home, hoping—stupidly—that he might regret it. Instead, I found my life scattered on the lawn. Clothes. Books. Photos. Even our wedding album. Logan stood on the porch, arm around his new girlfriend—Brenda—looking proud.
“This house was my grandfather’s,” he said coldly. “You’ve got no claim to it. You’re out.”
I didn’t say a word. I just started loading my things into the car while Brenda looked on, smirking. “Can’t wait to redecorate,” she said. “This place screams middle-aged meltdown.”
And then, like divine timing, a black BMW pulled up to the curb.
Out stepped Mr. Duncan—Logan’s grandfather, and the actual owner of the house. He took one look at the lawn, then at Logan, and his face darkened.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
Logan tried to act smooth. “It’s a private matter, Grandpa. You don’t need to get involved.”
“Oh, I think I do,” Mr. Duncan snapped. “Let me guess—you threw out the woman who stood by you for five years, and brought in this… substitute?”
Logan went pale. “Natasha and I are done. I moved on.”
“And you think that gives you the right to evict her? In my house?”
Logan faltered. Mr. Duncan turned to me.
“Natasha, go inside. This is still your home. Logan? You’re done. No more free rent. No more checks. You’ve embarrassed this family for the last time.”
Logan’s jaw dropped. “You’re cutting me off?”
“You’ve chosen your path,” his grandfather said. “Now walk it—without my help.”
And just like that, Logan and Brenda were out. I was escorted inside by the man who once welcomed me into the family—and now had my back in the most unexpected way.
Later, Mr. Duncan told me he’d come by to offer help with IVF, unaware of the mess he’d walk into. Instead, he signed the deed over to me. The house was now mine.
Logan? He spiraled. Brenda left. He bounced between couches. Eventually, he came back—disheveled, desperate.
“I made a mistake,” he pleaded. “Talk to Grandpa for me. I can’t live like this.”
Not once did he say sorry.
So I gave him the line I’d been saving:
“You made your bed. Now lie in it.”
And I shut the door.
I don’t know what’s next for him. But I know what’s next for me: healing. Peace. Power.
Sometimes, rock bottom isn’t the end.
It’s just the place you finally stand up—and start over.