While I was at work, my parents, my sister, and her two kids were already hauling boxes into my mountain house. Mom smiled like it was settled. “We all live here now. It’s family property.” They planned their big “move-in day.” I planned something else.

A few movers froze midstep. Lydia looked up sharply. My father paused at the foot of the porch, hands on his hips.

But my mother only sighed as if inconvenienced.

“Oh, Mara, don’t start. We don’t have time for one of your moods.”

Heat crawled up my neck.

“Get your things off my property.”

Lydia let out a mocking laugh.

“Our property, Mara. Mom and Dad helped with the down payment. Don’t act like you did this alone.”

I stared at her.

“They gave me a thousand dollars. The mortgage is mine. The deed is mine. I pay the taxes. I pay for every inch of this place.”

Mom waved her hand dismissively.

“You get so hung up on numbers. Family doesn’t do math. Family shares.”

Family shares.

My rib cage tightened at the hypocrisy. My entire life had been proof that family only shared when I was the one giving.

I stepped forward.

“You cannot move into my house.”

Lydia pressed her hand against her hip, eyebrow arched.

“We’re already here, and the kids love it. Why make a big deal out of something that helps everyone?”

As if summoned, Owen came around the corner of the house, cheeks red with excitement.

“Mommy, can we see the big window room now? Grandma said it’s mine!”

Piper trailed behind him, clutching a pinecone.