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 fresh wave of nausea rolled through me.

I hadn’t even opened a single message yet.

I clicked on Mom’s first.

Mara, you embarrassed all of us yesterday. Fix this now.

Fix this.

As if I had done something wrong.

The next message from her came seconds later, almost frantic.

The kids didn’t sleep last night because of you. You need to think about someone besides yourself.

Besides myself.

The irony almost made me laugh.

I scrolled further.

If you don’t answer, we will have no choice but to take action.

Take action.

There it was. The threat, tucked neatly between guilt and manipulation.

I clicked Lydia’s thread next. Her messages were longer—as always, she never used ten words when she could use two hundred.

I can’t believe you locked your own family out. Do you understand how cruel that was? Owen asked why you hate us. I didn’t know what to tell him. You never let us in, literally or emotionally. Maybe this is who you really are.

A few lines later:

We weren’t trying to take anything from you. We were trying to build something with you. But you’re too selfish to see it.

And then:

If you don’t let us move in, we will take the next step.

My breath caught.

The next step.