“Not yet,” I said. “But I’m going to get it.”
“Good,” he said. “In the meantime, I’d recommend documenting everything. Save all the texts and voicemails. Take photos of the damage and install security cameras as soon as possible.”
“What are my legal options?” I asked.
“If you can prove she broke in, you can pursue legal action for trespassing and property damage,” he said. “You can also send her a cease and desist letter, which would make it clear that any further unauthorized access will result in legal action.”
“And if she ignores it?” I asked.
“Then you escalate. Protective order, lawsuit, whatever it takes. But let’s start with the cease and desist and see how she responds.”
I thanked him and hung up, feeling a strange sense of clarity. I wasn’t powerless. I had options, and I was going to use them.
That evening, I drove to a home security store and bought two outdoor cameras with motion detection and night vision. The sales associate helped me pick a system that could be monitored from my phone. I paid extra for expedited shipping to the cabin.
Then I went home and started organizing my evidence. I took screenshots of every text message. I saved every voicemail. I printed out the email from Beverly and the invoice for the window repair.
By the time I went to bed, I had a folder an inch thick.
Vanessa thought she could intimidate me. She thought I would back down, apologize, and let her do whatever she wanted.
She was wrong.
And by the time I was done, she was going to regret ever stepping foot in my cabin.
Friday morning, I took the day off work and drove up to the cabin. The security cameras had arrived, and I needed to install them myself. I wasn’t going to wait for a professional or risk Vanessa showing up while someone else was there.
The drive felt longer than usual. My mind raced with possibilities.
What if Vanessa came back while I was there? What if she had already been back and done more damage? What if she brought Craig and they confronted me?
I kept my phone on the passenger seat, ready to call the sheriff if needed.
When I pulled into the driveway, everything looked normal. The cabin was quiet, the windows intact. I unlocked the door, using my new key, and stepped inside.
The air smelled stale, like someone had turned up the heat and left it running for hours.
I walked through each room, checking for signs of disturbance. In the kitchen, I found dishes in the sink. Two plates, two forks, two glasses.
They hadn’t even bothered to clean up after themselves.
I took photos with my phone.
Then I installed the security cameras, one facing the driveway and one facing the back door. The setup was easier than I expected. Within an hour, I had both cameras connected to my phone, and I could see live footage from wherever I was.
I felt a small sense of victory.
If Vanessa came back, I would have proof.
As I was finishing up, my phone buzzed.
A text from my mother.
Your father and I are coming to see you this weekend. We need to talk about this situation with your sister.
I stared at the message. They were coming to Boulder, to my apartment, to corner me and force me to reconcile with Vanessa.
I texted back, I’m not available this weekend.
Her response was immediate.
We’re your parents. Make time.
I typed, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.
Erica, enough. We’re arriving Saturday afternoon. Be home.
I felt my chest tighten.
They weren’t asking. They were demanding. And if I refused, I would be the disrespectful daughter who turned her back on her family.
But I was done playing by their rules.
If you show up at my apartment uninvited, I won’t answer the door, I texted. I’ve set a boundary with Vanessa, and I’m setting one with you, too. I need space.
I waited for her response.
It took five minutes.
You’re breaking your father’s heart.
I didn’t reply. Instead, I spent the next hour sitting on my deck, looking out at the mountains, trying to calm the anxiety building in my chest.
I had never stood up to my parents like this. I had never refused to see them, and part of me felt like a terrible person for doing it.
But another part of me knew it was necessary.
Saturday came, and I stayed in my apartment. I turned off my phone and spent the day reading, cleaning, and trying not to think about whether my parents had actually driven to Boulder.
Around five in the afternoon, I turned my phone back on.
Eight missed calls. Twelve text messages.
The first few texts were from my mother saying they were outside my building and I needed to come down. Then the messages shifted to anger.
I can’t believe you’re doing this. Your father is devastated. This is the last straw, Erica.
Then finally, a message from my father.
We drove three hours to see you, and you won’t even open the door. I don’t know who you’ve become, but this isn’t the daughter we raised.
I set my phone down and felt tears prick my eyes.
Not because I regretted my decision, but because it hurt to realize how little they understood me. They thought I was the problem. They thought I had changed.