“And it would be nice to keep something in the family.”
The phrase should have warned me.
Instead, it comforted me.
She continued.
“We could use it for family weekends.”
I wanted that more than I wanted to admit.
I wanted to believe the house could become the place where all of us finally stopped keeping score.
So I kept it.
A few months later, I gave Dad a spare key.
“Emergency use,” I told him.
He smiled.
“Of course.”
“And call me before going.”
“Always.”
That was the agreement.
Informal, but clear.
The deed was in my name.
The utilities were in my name.
The insurance was mine.
The tax bills came to me.
A spare key was not ownership.
At first, they mostly respected that.
Then little things changed.
Dad texted afterward instead of before.
Great weekend at the lake. Thanks, kiddo.
Rebeca brought Jessica and Nadia one spring without asking.
I found out because Nadia posted a photograph from the dock.
I told myself it was fine.
The house was empty.
They were family.
Margarita had said houses were supposed to have people in them.
Then I went up unexpectedly one Thursday.
I had been exhausted from a project deadline and taken two personal days. I wanted silence, coffee, and the porch.
When I unlocked the front door, music was playing somewhere behind the house.
I walked through the kitchen.
Jessica was on the back deck with six friends.
Beer bottles crowded the patio table.
Wet towels were thrown over the chairs.
Two people I had never seen before were sitting on Margarita’s old porch swing.
Jessica saw me.
Her expression changed from surprise to irritation.
“What are you doing here?”
For one full second, I thought I had misheard her.
“What am I doing here?”
She crossed her arms.
“I mean, we have people over.”
I looked around.
“This is my house.”
“I know.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t start.”
Her friends became very quiet.
My face went hot.
Not from embarrassment.
“Jessica, I decide who stays here.”
She stared at me.
Then looked away.
The party ended slowly.
A few people drove home that evening. The rest left the next morning.
By noon, Rebeca called.
“How could you embarrass Jessica like that?”
I was standing on the porch overlooking the water.
“She entered my house without asking.”
“She has used that house before.”
“With permission.”
“She thought permission was understood.”
“That’s not how permission works.”
Rebeca sighed.
“You could have been gracious.”
“With six strangers in a property I’m responsible for?”
“They were her friends.”
“They were strangers to me.”
“You always make things difficult.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re calling me because Jessica asked me what I was doing in my own house.”
“She was surprised.”
“So was I.”
Rebeca ended the call not long after.
Dad became distant.
For almost a month, our conversations were short.
I knew what everyone was waiting for.
An apology.
Mine.
I did not give one.
Then, three weeks before the trip, Dad called.
“Dulce, can you come to dinner?”
The warmth in his voice surprised me.
“Tonight?”
“If you can.”
“Why?”
“Rebeca and I want to talk.”
I almost said no.
Instead, hope showed up before pride could stop it.
Maybe Dad had finally realized how much everything had drifted.
Maybe Rebeca wanted to clear the air.
I drove to their house after work.
Dad opened the door and hugged me.
A real hug.
“Good to see you.”
“You too.”
Rebeca was in the living room.
She stood when I entered.
“Hi, Dulce.”
Not warm.
Not cold.
Trying.
That was enough to lower my guard.
We sat.
Dad leaned forward.
“We’ve been thinking.”
I smiled.
“Dangerous.”
He laughed.
I missed making him laugh.
“We haven’t spent enough time together.”
My throat tightened.
Rebeca nodded.
“There’s been tension.”
“That’s one word for it.”
She ignored that.
“We thought maybe we should do something as a family.”
Dad smiled.
“What about ten days at the lake?”
I blinked.
“All of us?”
“All of us.”
Rebeca began counting.
“Your father and me. Jessica and Marcos. Nadia and David.”
I stared.
“Marcos and David?”
Dad looked surprised.
“You haven’t met them?”
“No.”
Jessica and Nadia had both become engaged that year.
Nobody had told me.
The hurt came quickly, but I swallowed it.
Rebeca continued as if the omission were unimportant.
“And you, of course.”
Of course.
Those two words were all it took to make me believe again.
“I’d like that.”
Dad smiled.
“So would I.”
“When?”
“Three weeks.”