My stepmother called at 11:47 p.m. on the first night in the beach house I bought with my own money and told me she and my father were moving in the next day, that they were taking the master suite, that her daughter would get the best ocean-view room

“I will make sure everything is ready for your arrival,” I said calmly. She sounded satisfied as the line went dead, believing she had won another battle.

I immediately called my father, Randall, who answered on the second ring. He was seventy-one years old and had made his living in commercial real estate.

“Gillian said you both are moving in tomorrow and taking the best rooms,” I told him. The line went silent as Randall processed the fact that his wife had made a massive decision without his consent.

“Kaitlyn, what are you talking about?” he asked slowly. He explained that Gillian had told him I invited them for a long weekend because I was lonely in the new house.

He swore under his breath when he realized Gillian had lied to both of us to force her way into the property. He admitted that he did want to visit the ocean air, but he never agreed to move in or take over my space.

“Do you still want to come tomorrow?” I asked him. He stayed silent for a long time before saying that he felt he had to come now.