The house would always be mine.
My phone buzzed on the desk, pulling me back to the present.
A message from Diana lit up the screen. “I already told the local police you are not allowed on the property. Do not embarrass yourself by trying to break in.”
I stared at the text for a moment before forwarding it to Evelyn with a brief explanation.
Her reply came almost instantly. “It is time to handle this properly.”
Another message followed right after, from a different number.
Madeline.
“Mom said you tried to ruin my party,” it read. “You were never really part of this family anyway.”
I set the phone down and exhaled quietly.
Madeline had been ten when her mother married my father. At first, she had been shy and reserved, but over time Diana molded her into a reflection of herself. Every achievement of mine had been overshadowed by something Madeline needed attention for.
If I earned an academic award, suddenly Madeline deserved a celebration for finishing a simple project. If teachers praised me, the conversation shifted to her upcoming dance recital.
After my mother d/ie/d, that imbalance only grew worse.
My phone rang again.
This time it was my father. “Rebecca,” he said wearily when I answered. “Please do not make this situation harder.”
There was no question about what Diana had said or whether it was true. He went straight to asking me to stay quiet.
“Diana is only trying to keep peace in the family,” he continued. “Maybe banning you from the house was extreme, but maybe giving everyone some space would help.”
I looked down at the trust document spread across my desk.
“The beach house belongs to me,” I said calmly. “Mom placed it in a trust before she died.”
He hesitated. I could hear the faint clink of a glass touching a table on his end.
“Diana told me you were not interested in the property anymore,” he said slowly. “She said you never visited and did not want the responsibility.”
I let out a quiet breath.
“I will handle this,” I told him.
Then I ended the call.
An hour later, I booked a flight to Logan Airport for the next morning.
A dense fog rolled along the Massachusetts coast when my car reached the narrow road leading to the house. Through the mist, I saw the familiar outline of the building standing against the ocean.
But something about it felt off.
The railing had been replaced with sleek, modern panels, and security cameras now lined each corner of the roof. A bright red luxury sedan sat in the driveway where my mother once kept a small wooden garden shed.
Before I even stepped out of the car, the front door flew open.
Diana stormed toward me in expensive athletic wear, with Madeline close behind, holding up her phone and recording.
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