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.

“You spoke to a maintenance company that services the property for me,” I say. “They do not have authority to rent this home. They never did. Whether someone made a mistake or you misrepresented your right to be here, the result is the same. You do not have permission to occupy this property.”

My father stands fully now.

“Skyla, sweetheart,” he says, lifting both hands slightly, already moving toward conciliatory uselessness. “There must be some misunderstanding. We can figure this out.”

There are few phrases more enraging than we can figure this out when spoken by someone who stood silent while you were being pushed out.

“There is no misunderstanding, Dad,” I say. “You all made yourselves very clear. I was not invited. I was removed from the group chat. You were told not to give me the address. And yet here you are. In my house. Drinking my wine. Using my things. Celebrating in the one place I built for myself because I knew exactly what would happen if any of you ever found out it existed.”

Bridget’s face flushes bright.

“You did this on purpose,” she snaps. “You set us up.”

I look at her.