Nothing about Apartment 4B was perfect.
But it belonged to me.
Completely. Legally. Finally.
And sometimes I still remember the night Mom walked inside with Chloe’s pink suitcases and announced:
“Sweetheart, meet the new owner of your apartment.”
She believed she was introducing me to my replacement.
She had no idea she was introducing me to the woman I was about to become.
The woman who stopped mistaking sacrifice for love.
The woman who learned that boundaries aren’t cruel.
The woman who understood that being a good daughter never required surrendering her own choices.
And most importantly, the woman who finally held the key to her own front door, and never again gave a copy to anyone who believed love automatically meant permission.
