My sister announced in the family group chat that I was officially banned from the reunion—and made it clear no one was to tell me where it would be. I didn’t argue. I didn’t reply. I simply opened the location pin… and laughed so hard I had to cover my mouth.

I need time to do its work. Comfort has to settle before humiliation cuts deepest. People need to break a seal on a bottle of wine, kick off their shoes, choose rooms, sit down in a house and imagine themselves belonging to it before you ask them to stand up and leave.

I reach over and open the folder on the passenger seat.

Inside are the deed, the LLC formation documents for Seaglass Harbor Holdings, a printed copy of the group message preview banning me from the reunion, and backup copies of everything in case anyone decides confusion is a legal strategy.

Paper has a scent I’ve always loved. Dry, clean, authoritative.

Across the yard, lights flick on upstairs.

They’re choosing rooms now.

I know exactly where each of them will land because people reveal themselves most honestly through what they reach for when they assume there will be no consequences.