He Emptied Our Savings to Repay Her

When the property manager calls me, I'm in the middle of picking out the curtains for my new home while sitting behind my desk.

"Ms. Grant, the moving truck hired by your partner is stuck in the underground garage of the apartment. Do you need help dealing with this incident?"

My hand, which is clutching the mouse, freezes at that moment.

I haven't even received my keys to my new place. How can I possibly be moving my things there now?

"But Matthew showed up with the permission slip that you signed and claimed the keys. Right now, he's carrying the bed into the master suite.

"He told me that you've given him permission to let your relative, Ms. Rosalie Sullivan, and her child move into the apartment."

Rosalie Sullivan.

That name makes my head buzz loudly.

I have practically worked myself to the bone for ten years to secure the internal allocation that got me this subsidized apartment in the city center.

In fact, I've only received the notification that I'll be receiving this apartment yesterday.

To think that Matthew Lowe actually has the audacity to receive the keys behind my back and give the apartment to someone else!

As for Rosalie, she's the poor widow left behind by Matthew's best friend. She and her child are also the very same people whom I've personally supported out of my pocket and looked after for three years.

I clutch my phone tightly at that moment.

I, Lynette Grant, had worked myself to the bone for the company for ten years in exchange for this subsidized apartment in the city center.

This achievement came at the cost of a neck condition and stomach issues.

Last month, I even had a discussion with Matthew Lowe in the living room.

Once I got the keys, I would do a basic renovation and bring my in-laws from the village to stay here with us.

However, I didn't know that he had forged my signature behind my back. He had given the apartment to the mother and son.

I took out my phone with trembling hands. Then, I dialed Matthew's number.

The call only got through after a long time.

I heard a drilling sound and a child's laughter in the background. "I'm fixing the pipes for Rosie. Dear, what's wrong?"

"Why did you give Rosalie the keys to the apartment my company gave me?" I asked.

There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

"I'm really busy right now." He hastily ended the call.

When I called again, I heard a message saying that the call couldn't get through.

The manager of the logistics department forced himself to stay calm and stood up. "Ms. Grant, isn't he illegally occupying your property? Should I report this to security?"

I took a deep breath and said, "It's fine. It's just a misunderstanding within my family."

I left the office and got into my car.

I stared at the exquisite LEGO toy on the passenger's seat.

I had deliberately gone to the mall the night before to buy this gift for Zachary Lowe's fourth birthday.

…

On a rainy night three years ago, Matthew came to my house with Rosalie Sullivan and her son, Zachary Lowe, who had just turned one year old.

The tall, strong man knelt at the entrance. His eyes were bloodshot.

Matthew said his childhood friend, Charles Kirk, was hit by a truck that had lost control while trying to save him.

He said he would do anything he could to take care of Charles' wife and son.

I was moved by how much he valued his late friend.

Over the past three years, I had pulled strings to help Rosalie secure an easy administrative position.

I took 3,000 dollars of my salary every month to pay for their rent, and I even let her drive my old BMW.

I thought I married a faithful man with integrity, and I thought of cherishing them like my own family.

Now that I thought about it, people had been taking advantage of my kindness and tolerance.

..

I drove into the garage and stayed in the car for a long time before I went upstairs.

I opened the door, and the aroma of food wafted through my nose.

Matthew was wearing an apron. He stepped out of the kitchen with a plate of fish.

He flashed a gentle smile. "Dear, you're home. Wash your hands. I've cooked your favorite fish today."

I didn't change my shoes; I just walked straight to the dining table.

I tapped on my phone and showed him a digital copy of the transfer agreement. "You had someone forge my stamp to sign this, didn't you?"

The plate in Matthew's hand shook slightly, and the sauce spilled on the wooden table.

The smile on his face froze. "Lyn, let me explain."

He anxiously set the plate down and removed the heat-resistant gloves. "The house Rosalie rented was leaking. The owner suddenly increased the rent and wanted to kick them out.

"Charles died because he tried to save me. I can't just do nothing while his wife and kid are out on the street!"

I kept a straight face as I watched his righteous act.