There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“Sophie… you know how she is,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to upset her. I told her we bought it together. That I was the main provider.”

“Calmer now?” I asked. “She’s kicking me out of my own home. You lied for three years?”

“I just… exaggerated,” he said weakly. “I’m on my way. We’ll talk then.”

I ended the call and stood still, listening to drawers slam and footsteps pacing the kitchen. Marta wasn’t backing down—she was settling in, as if the place already belonged to her.

I walked back out.

“Done talking?” she sneered. “Then start packing. I won’t tolerate you here much longer.”

“I’m not leaving,” I replied calmly, surprising even myself. “This is my apartment. And it will stay that way.”

“We’ll see,” she scoffed. “Thomas will tell the truth.”

For the first time, I smiled.

“The truth doesn’t need to be summoned,” I said. “It arrives on its own.”

When the front door opened, Marta jumped up. Thomas rushed in, tense and pale.

“What’s going on?” he asked, avoiding my eyes.

“Tell her!” Marta demanded. “Tell her the apartment is yours!”

Thomas swallowed hard.

“Mom… it’s not,” he said quietly. “The apartment belongs to Sophie. Her parents bought it. I didn’t contribute.”