But the truth was, I had just stopped pretending.
Sunday passed quietly. I ignored the calls and messages. I went for a run, cooked a nice meal, and watched the sunset from my balcony.
But Monday morning brought a new surprise.
I woke up to an alert on my phone, a notification from the security camera at the cabin.
Motion detected.
I opened the app and saw a dark SUV parked in my driveway. Two figures were walking toward the cabin.
I zoomed in on the video. It was grainy, but I could make out enough details. One of the figures was tall and broad-shouldered.
Craig.
The other was shorter with long hair.
Vanessa.
They were back.
My heart pounded as I watched them walk up to the front door. Craig tried the handle, found it locked, then walked around to the back. Vanessa stayed by the car, looking around nervously.
I watched as Craig examined the back door, noticed the repaired window, and then pulled something out of his pocket.
A crowbar.
He was going to force his way in again.
I grabbed my phone and called the sheriff’s office. The dispatcher answered, and I spoke quickly, my voice shaking.
“I have security footage of two people attempting to break into my property. They’re there right now.”
She took down the address and said a deputy would be dispatched immediately.
I kept watching the live feed. Craig was prying at the back door now, trying to force it open. Vanessa walked over to him, said something I couldn’t hear, and then looked directly at the camera.
She froze.
She had seen it.
She grabbed Craig’s arm and pointed. He looked up, saw the camera, and dropped the crowbar.
They both hurried back to the SUV and drove off, but it was too late.
I had everything on video.
Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. It was the deputy.
“Miss Erica, we just arrived at your property. No one’s here, but we can see evidence of attempted forced entry on the back door. Do you have security footage?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll send it to you right now.”
I downloaded the video from the app and emailed it to the deputy. He called me back ten minutes later.
“We have clear footage of the two individuals,” he said. “Do you know who they are?”
I took a breath.
“Yes. One of them is my sister, Vanessa. The other is her husband, Craig.”
There was a pause.
“Your sister?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s been using my property without permission. I changed the locks after she refused to leave, and now she’s trying to break in again.”
“This is a legal matter,” the deputy said. “I’m going to file a report and forward this to the district attorney’s office. You may also want to consider a protective order.”
“I will,” I said.
When I hung up, I felt a strange mix of relief and dread. I had done it. I had reported them.
There was no going back now.
And Vanessa was about to learn that actions have consequences.
The rest of Monday was a waiting game. I went to work but couldn’t focus. Every few minutes, I checked my phone, expecting a call from Vanessa or my parents, but there was nothing.
By Tuesday afternoon, the silence was unbearable.
I called Keith, my lawyer, and told him what had happened.
He listened carefully, asked a few clarifying questions, and then said, “I’ll draft the cease and desist letter today. We’ll send it certified mail so there’s proof of delivery. And given the break-in attempt, I’d strongly recommend filing for a protective order.”
“How long does that take?” I asked.
“You can file a temporary protective order within a few days. If the judge grants it, it’ll be in effect until a hearing can be scheduled. At the hearing, you’ll present your evidence, and if the judge agrees that there’s a threat, they’ll issue a longer order.”
“What does that mean for Vanessa?”
“It means she can’t come within a certain distance of you or your property. If she violates the order, she can face immediate consequences.”
The weight of those words hung in the air.
Part of me felt vindicated. Another part felt sick.
This was my sister. My family.
How had it come to this?
But I knew the answer. It had come to this because Vanessa had never learned that no meant no. Because my parents had never held her accountable. And because I had spent years enabling the behavior by staying silent.
“Let’s do it,” I said. “File the protective order.”
Keith said he would have the paperwork ready by Thursday. In the meantime, he sent the cease and desist letter. I received a copy by email and read it carefully.