My stepmother called me at the end of the day, her voice so smug I could practically hear the smile on her lips, and told me that from now on I would never be allowed to set foot in the family beach house again because she had already changed every lock.

“You called the police and claimed I was trespassing on my own property,” I reminded her. “You changed the locks and took my mother’s belongings to the garage,” I added.

Victoria lifted her chin and refused to back down. “I improved this house and kept it alive while your mother froze it in time like a shrine,” she claimed.

“And I made it usable for the family,” she added. “For your family, you mean,” I countered.

Cassandra pushed back from the table so abruptly that her chair legs screeched. “Can everyone stop talking like I am not even in the room?” she asked.

“Then say something that is actually true,” I told her. She looked at Victoria and hesitated.

“Did Dad know about this?” Cassandra asked. Victoria didn’t answer her daughter.

“Mom, tell me the truth,” Cassandra demanded. “Your father knew enough,” Victoria finally muttered.

“He knew there was no point in arguing with a dying woman,” she added. The sentence was so ugly that it hung in the air like a stain.

Lydia stood up and began gathering the papers. “I think we have everything we need for today,” she announced.