Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 20

Teresa had intended to scold Yvonne, but as she stood in the nearly empty room, looking at the handful of plain clothes in the walk-in closet, her anger melted away, replaced by a pang of guilt.

She let out a heavy sigh, took Yvonne’s hand, and said, “Are you satisfied now? Just please, don’t cause any more trouble.”

Yvonne looked at her and coldly pulled her hand away.

Satisfied? All of this should have belonged to the original Yvonne from the start. This wasn’t a victory; it was merely a restoration of what was rightfully hers.

“Have someone purchase everything on this list for me,” Yvonne said, handing Teresa a piece of paper. It was a list of brands for various items she was used to having.

Teresa glanced at the list. They were all mid- to high-end brands, but nothing outrageous. She nodded.

“Alright. I’ll have someone take care of it tomorrow. I won’t let you feel neglected,” Teresa said with a smile, tucking the list away.

The original Yvonne had been back in this house for five years, enduring every form of neglect imaginable. For her biological mother to say this now was the height of self-deception.

Yvonne was finally in the large, sun-facing room. Even the blankets seemed to smell of sunshine.

She slept soundly, not waking until the sun was high in the sky the next day.

She stretched languidly in the sunlight streaming through the window, got ready, and left her room.

The Spencer family was gone. George was at the office, Jeffrey was at the hospital, and Teresa had taken Queena out shopping—no doubt to compensate her for the injustice of having to switch rooms.

Yvonne ate her breakfast alone and then went out.

“Of course, Yvonne! My, you’ve grown so much, I almost didn’t recognize you. Come in, come in!”

Monica took Yvonne’s hand and led her inside.

Yvonne stepped into her former home, her eyes greedily taking in every detail.

Everything was just as she had left it. The decor was simple and cozy. But on the western wall, there was now a long wooden table. On it were bowls of her favorite fruits and snacks, and in the center stood a black-and-white photograph of her.

The photo was taken the year she entered the police academy. She was in her uniform, her hair cut in a short, smart bob, her smile bright and full of confidence.

Yvonne stared at her own memorial photo, a whirlwind of emotions churning inside her.