“Mommy said I get the room upstairs with the big window. Grandma said you won’t mind.”
I blinked at him. “Grandma said what?”
Piper grabbed her brother’s hand and added proudly, “Grandma said this is our new home. We won’t have to leave.”
That hit me harder than anything else.
They had told the children. They had prepared them. They had created a reality where this wasn’t trespassing. It was entitlement.
I walked past them, needing to see the damage for myself.
The cabin door was wide open. Inside, movers were carrying in a dresser I’d never seen before. A recliner that wasn’t mine sat lopsided near the entryway. My pantry door hung open, boxes of their food stacked on my shelves. My refrigerator door stood ajar, filled with items they’d brought from home—Mom’s leftovers, Lydia’s juice boxes, Piper’s yogurt pouches—everything crammed beside my groceries like I wasn’t even a separate person.
I swallowed hard.
“Stop. Everyone stop. Get your things off my property.”
Mom sighed loudly, annoyed, like I was the one ruining her day. “Oh, Mara, don’t start. We don’t have time for one of your moods. Go inside, collect yourself, and when you come back out, we’ll finish.”
“This isn’t yours,” I said, my voice cracking only slightly.
Lydia crossed her arms. “Wow. Dramatic much? We’re already here, and the kids love it. Why make a big deal out of something that helps everyone?”
“I’m done,” I said, feeling steady anger rise instead of panic. “I’m done being used. I’m going inside. When I come back out, I expect all of this gone.”
Mom actually laughed. “Oh sweetheart, you’ll adjust. Families share.”
I didn’t answer. I walked back inside, shut the front door, and locked it. Behind me, I heard Lydia mutter loudly, “She’s embarrassing herself,” followed by Dad’s voice, “Let her cool off. She’ll cave.”
The cabin felt smaller than usual, the walls closing in around me. I leaned against the door, hearing the muffled voices outside. My sanctuary was dissolving around me.
I pushed myself upright and walked into the kitchen, breathing through the tightness in my chest. My phone felt heavy in my hand as I unlocked it. I scrolled to the number of a locksmith in Cedar County.
My thumb hovered. If I called, there was no going back.
I closed my eyes, hearing Mom’s voice from outside—shrill, confident, claiming things that did not belong to her.
