I’m Ian, 17, and my dad’s house doesn’t feel like mine anymore. After he died two years ago, he left me a college fund locked until I turned 18—a safety net I trusted. My mom and stepdad, Ray, managed the bills, and I stayed quiet. Then one day, Mom announced we bought a bigger house outside town. I asked how—they admitted they used my dad’s money without telling me.

Ray laughed when I asked if the house would be mine when I turned 18. That laugh haunted me. Last weekend, his family invaded my home, acting like it was theirs. When I refused to cook for them, Ray snapped, and I finally told them the truth: the house was bought with my money, not theirs.

Mom said I owed Ray an apology, but I didn’t. I found Dad’s letter in my fireproof box: “Don’t let anyone take it from you. It’s yours.” I called Dad’s lawyer. Now, I’m fighting to claim what’s mine.

They thought I’d stay silent. They were wrong.