Claire called seventeen times in three days. I know because I counted before blocking her. First she was furious. How dare I involve police. How dare I humiliate Daniel. How dare I make our parents choose sides. Then she shifted into wounded language. We were trying to help. You always assume the worst. You’ve always treated me like a child. Then, when neither of those gained traction, she arrived at tears. Daniel’s been under so much stress. You don’t know what our finances are like. He just saw an opportunity. Mom and Dad weren’t using the house efficiently.
Efficiently.
That word belongs in warehouses and boardrooms, not in the mouth of a daughter talking about her parents’ home.
I answered one call only because my mother begged me to.
Claire was crying before she said hello.
“I know it looked bad,” she said.
“It was bad.”
“You don’t understand how much pressure Daniel’s under.”
I stood on my balcony in San Jose looking at traffic and glass towers and said, “Then Daniel should try selling one of his own possessions next time.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. Locking our parents out isn’t fair.”
She sniffed hard. “It was temporary.”