“Mom said you tried to ruin my party,” the message read. “After all, you were never part of this family.”
I put the phone down and exhaled softly.
Madeline was ten years old when her mother married my father. She was shy and reserved at first, but over time Diana molded her into her own image. All my successes had been overshadowed by something Madeline needed attention for.
If I won a school award, Madeline suddenly deserved to be celebrated for completing a simple project. If the teachers praised me, the conversation would turn to her upcoming dance recital.
After my mother died, that imbalance only got worse.
My phone rang again.
This time it was my father. “Rebecca,” he said wearily when I answered. “Please don't make this more difficult.”
There was no doubt about what Diana had said or its veracity. He immediately asked me to keep quiet.
“Diana is just trying to keep peace in the family,” he continued. “Maybe banning you from the house was a bit of a stretch, but maybe giving everyone some space might help.”
I looked down at the trust document spread out on my desk.
"The beach house is mine," I said calmly. "Before she died, Mom put it in a trust."
He hesitated. I heard the faint clink of a glass hitting the table, right on his side.
"Diana told me you were no longer interested in the property," he said slowly. "She said you'd never visited it and didn't want to take on the responsibility."
I let out a silent sigh.
“I’ll take care of it,” I told him.
Then I ended the call.
An hour later, I booked a flight to Logan Airport for the next morning.
A thick fog shrouded the Massachusetts coast as my car reached the narrow road leading to the house. Through the haze, I glimpsed the familiar outline of the building silhouetted against the ocean.
But something wasn't right.
The railing had been replaced with sleek, modern panels, and security cameras were now mounted at every corner of the roof. A luxurious, bright red sedan was parked in the driveway where my mother once kept a small wooden shed for garden tools.
Before I even got out of the car, the front door flew open.
Diana walked briskly toward me, dressed in expensive sportswear, with Madeline right behind her, holding her phone and filming everything.
“I told you not to come here!” Diana screamed.
"Call the police," I replied calmly as I pulled my suitcase out of the trunk. "I already did."
At that very moment, two police cars turned into the driveway.
An officer stepped forward and approached us with composed professionalism.
Crawford,” he said, turning to Diana. “We’ve received your complaint for trespassing.”
"Yes," she snapped, pointing at me. "That woman has no right to be here."
The officer opened a folder.
To learn more, read the next page >>
To see the full instructions for this recipe, go to the next page or click the open button (>) and don't forget to share it with your friends on Facebook.
