“Where’s Mom?”
“At Laura’s.”
My sister.
Of course.
Dad continued. “They said renting the house will help everyone. I objected. Travis said if I didn’t like it, I could leave.”
“So he locked you out?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Three years earlier, Laura and Travis had lost money on a failed short-term rental business. Ever since, every family gathering included the same complaint: if only they had the right property, they could make it work.
Apparently, my parents’ anniversary gift had become that property.
“What did Mom say?”
Dad hesitated.
“She said not to make trouble.”
That hurt worse than the locks.
I hadn’t bought the house for Laura.
I hadn’t bought it for Travis.
I bought it so my parents could wake up by the ocean after forty years of working, raising children, surviving layoffs, surgeries, and everything else life had thrown at them.
I told Dad to spend one more night at the motel.
Then I called my attorney.
By noon, I had the rental listing.
By two, screenshots of fourteen bookings.
By four, the property records.
And by six, I knew exactly what Travis had done.
He hadn’t stolen the house.
He had made a far more expensive mistake.
The next morning, I drove to the coast.
Travis answered the door wearing sunglasses and holding a mug that said HOST.
“You can’t just show up,” he said.
I smiled.
“Actually, I can.”
Laura appeared behind him.
“This house isn’t yours anymore.”
That was when I handed Travis an envelope.
