I used to believe love could protect me from anything. When James asked me to leave my finance career to raise our twin daughters, I said yes without hesitation. Our life was full of laughter—until it shattered in an instant.

James died in a car accident on his way home. Grief swallowed me whole, but I clung to our daughters, Grace and Ella. I thought losing James was the worst thing that could happen. I was wrong.

After the funeral, his mother, Judith, told me the house was hers. James had never changed the deed. She let me stay—but only in the garage. I endured the cold nights, telling myself it was temporary.

One afternoon, my daughters asked why I didn’t sleep in my own bed. Their innocent questions shook Judith more than I ever could.

Late one night, she knocked on the garage door, pale and trembling. She confessed she was sick—stage three cancer—and handed me the papers transferring the house to me and the girls.

I should’ve turned her away, but I didn’t. We are broken, imperfect. But somehow, we’re still a family. And despite everything, we’ll face whatever comes next—together.