Behind my reflection in the window, I could almost see another image layered faintly over the glass: a wraparound porch, white railing peeling just a little at the corners, an old rocking chair, and the glittering expanse of the Atlantic beyond. The beach house.
Mom’s laugh drifted through my memory, warm and clear, wrapped in salt air.
“Alex, look at that wave! Bigger than you were at five, I swear.”
I blinked away the ghost of the past and focused on the present.
“The house isn’t yours to ban me from, Victoria,” I said quietly.
“Oh, but it is,” she replied, and I could hear the triumphant smile in her voice. “Your father signed it over to me last month. It’s mine now, and I don’t want you anywhere near it. You’re just like your mother, you know. Always thinking you’re entitled to everything.”
That jab was so predictable it barely stung anymore.
A small smile pulled at the corner of my mouth, one she couldn’t see but I enjoyed anyway. “Thanks for letting me know about the locks,” I said.
There was a beat of confused silence. “What does that—”
I hung up before she could finish.