When my late father left me a house I had never heard of, I was shocked. But when I arrived, a woman named Deborah was already living there, claiming it was hers.
Tensions ran high as I insisted on my legal right, while she refused to leave. Over time, her hostility hinted at deeper pain. One night, she revealed the truth—she was my mother. My father had taken me as a baby and told everyone she was dead.
Overwhelmed, we began rebuilding our relationship. Though legal proceedings granted her the house, I gained something far greater—the mother I never knew.
