My phone began vibrating nonstop with incoming calls and messages from my mother and Kyle.
I watched Diane’s polished contact photo light up my screen over and over, and I let the calls go to voicemail.
Then my laptop began chiming with urgent emails about account closures, overdraft alerts, and ownership transfers.
When I finally answered one of my mother’s calls, I did not greet her, I simply listened.
“Alyssa, what have you done,” she shrieked, panic replacing her usual control, “the cabin at Lake Crescent is gone and strangers are inside claiming it is theirs.”
She continued without pause, describing how they had driven up for the weekend only to find their keys useless and new owners threatening to call the police.
Then she complained that her credit card had been declined at a gas station and that joint accounts had been closed.
In the background I heard my father’s voice tight with anger, but I said nothing and ended the call.
Kyle’s texts followed immediately, accusing me of destroying his credit score and sabotaging his business deals.
He asked how I could be so selfish over what he called a harmless joke at dinner, and that was when I laughed for the first time in days.