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When my mother passed away, she left me her beloved lake house. It wasn’t just a house; it was a sanctuary filled with her art, memories, and quiet joy. Summers spent there painting, skipping stones, and sipping cocoa in the window seat became treasures I carried into adulthood. When I inherited it at twenty-one, I made it clear to my father and stepmother, Carla, that no one else was allowed inside.
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