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They had decided to give the house—the one I had been living in, maintaining, paying taxes on—to my sister.
And I had 48 hours to leave.
At first, I thought it was some kind of misunderstanding. The house had been left to me by our grandfather. I had the paperwork, the will, everything. I had spent years keeping it up while my sister lived in another city, visiting only during holidays. But none of that seemed to matter anymore.
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