“This house cannot continue like this.”
Ada swallowed.
“What are you going to do?”
Shindu looked at her.
There was no hesitation left in his eyes.
“I am going to fix everything.”
Ada tried to smile, but it no longer looked natural.
“You are overreacting because of a misunderstanding.”
But Shindu knew it was not a misunderstanding. It was the truth.
And truth often arrives late. But once it comes, it brings consequences that no one in this house is prepared for, because Ada still did not know one thing.
For the past seven years, she had not been the only one in this house hiding a secret.
The quiet old mother standing near the door had one too.
And when that secret was finally revealed, this house would no longer belong to the person Ada thought it did.
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Shindu stood in the middle of the living room, his breathing still heavy from the anger that had just erupted. He stared at Ada for a long time — so long that the sound of the rain outside seemed to grow louder in the silent room.
At last, he spoke, his voice low and firm.
“Tomorrow, you leave this house.”
Ada froze for a second. She was sure she had heard wrong.
“What? What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
The words were as cold as metal.
Ada burst into tears. Not dramatic, noisy sobs, but the kind where tears simply flow down slowly.
“You are throwing me out because of her?” she choked out.
Shindu did not answer right away, but before he could speak, a thin and fragile hand gently touched his shoulder.
“Don’t make this a big issue.”
It was his mother’s voice — soft, calm, but strong enough to make everyone in the room turn toward her.
She stood there, the same old scarf wrapped around her head, her plastic sandals still wet from the rain.
Looking at her, no one would have imagined that this woman could change the balance of power in this elegant living room.
But the look in her eyes now was different.
It was no longer the tired look of someone who had just slept outside. It was the look of someone who had been silent for far too long.
She turned to Ada.
“You thought this house belonged to my son?”
Ada frowned.
“What a strange question. Of course it does,” she said, her voice still trembling with tears. “Shindu sent the money to buy this house. He told me from the beginning.”
The old woman did not answer immediately.
Instead, she slowly reached into the old cloth bag she had carried for years. The little worn-out bag at the edge looked completely worthless. Ada had seen it countless times and had always assumed it contained only a few insignificant belongings of a poor old woman.
But from that bag, the mother pulled out a brown envelope — thick, old, but carefully preserved.
She placed it on the glass table in the center of the room.
The sound was soft, but enough to draw everyone’s attention.
“Open it,” she told Shindu.
Shindu looked at the envelope, then at his mother, and opened it.
