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 have to understand how things were at the time,” he said. “No, you have to understand how things are right now,” I replied.

He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite me. “Your mother was very ill and became determined about certain things,” he said.

“She was accurate about Victoria,” I countered. “Did you know the house was mine, Harrison?” I asked.

His silence lasted just long enough to be an answer. “I knew it was in trust for you,” he finally admitted.

“You let her tell the police I was trespassing,” I said. “I didn’t know she had done that,” he claimed.

“Did you know she changed the locks?” I asked. He looked away and didn’t answer.

“I am not the villain you are trying to make me out to be,” he snapped. “I was just trying to keep the peace in my home,” he added.

“You call it peace because the real word would require a spine,” I told him. He flinched as if I had struck him.

“Your mother and I were married for twenty six years,” he reminded me. “And things were not always the way you remember them,” he added.

“I know they weren’t because I was there to see it,” I said. “None of that changes what you let happen after she died,” I added.