They Turned My House into a Columbarium, They Became Corpses

Georgette's POV

After spending a year abroad, I returned home quietly, hoping to surprise my fiancé.

But the moment I stepped into my house, I froze.

The place was filled with smoke, and an entire wall was covered with urns. I felt like I'd been struck by lightning.

Panicked, I fumbled for my phone to call my fiancé and ask what the hell was going on. But before I could even dial, a woman burst into the house.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “Can’t you see this house is for storing urns? You just barged in. What if you disturbed the spirits?”

Her words hit me like a slap. This was my house here, and she was using it to store urns?

“I’m the owner of this house. Who gave you permission to put urns in here?” I asked sharply.

But she only glanced at me with utter disdain and scoffed, “Owner? Please. This house belongs to my son-in-law.”

She smirked and added, “My son-in-law is Jerry Rodgers. Now get out, or I’ll have someone throw you out!”

I felt like the ground was crumbling beneath me. Jerry, my fiancé, was her son-in-law?

——

I quickly called him, my voice shaking with barely contained fury. “Jerry, you’d better give me an explanation!”

His voice on the other end was cold. “Georgette, what's wrong again?”

“What the hell happened to my house?” I demanded.

There was a pause, and then his tone shifted, a little uncertain. “Your house? What could’ve possibly happened to it?”

“I’m standing in it right now,” I said flatly.

After I spoke, silence devoured him. Then finally, he spoke. “You’ve been gone for a year. I let someone else use it. What’s the problem? And besides, that house was supposed to be our marital home. Meaning it’s for us. I have every right to handle it.”

I almost laughed from the sheer absurdity of it. First of all, who said I even still wanted to marry him? And second, how could anyone think it was okay to turn a future marital house into a columbarium?

I clenched my jaw, furious. “Jerry, you better come here right now and explain this to me in person.”

Yet he only sighed impatiently and said, “Georgette, are you done with your drama? Fine, I admit I shouldn’t have loaned out the house, but it’s not like you were coming back. I’ll book you a motel. Go stay there. I’m busy these days. Once you’re done with your business, just leave.”

Then he hung up.

I stared at my phone, stunned and livid.

A few minutes later, I got a text from him, a motel booking confirmation. When I opened it, nearly laughed in disbelief.

It was for a cheap roadside motel, barely seven bucks a night.

Fuming, I called him back.

But to my surprise, a woman answered.

“Mr. Rodgers is in a meeting, Miss Payne,” she said smoothly. “Mr. Rodgers said you’ve been too spoiled, so that motel suits you just fine.”

Holding back my temper, I clenched the phone. “Put Jerry on. Now.”

But the woman only sounded more smug. “Mr. Rodgers is very busy. Oh, and just a friendly reminder. The motel’s a bit far from your place, so you might want to head there now. Wouldn’t want to miss check-in! And don’t forget, you have to check out by 6 AM tomorrow. If not, Mr. Rodgers will have to pay for an extra day.”