Her replies arrived almost instantly.

First an explanation.

Then a claim that she’d been emotional.

Then she said I’d misunderstood.

Then she asked Dad to speak with me.

Finally came the familiar plea not to destroy my brother over something she’d said.

Not one message began with, “I’m sorry.”

Dad called twice.

I ignored him.

Darius kept calling until I blocked his number.

Around seven that evening, the gate intercom buzzed.

Mom stood outside.

She tried the old code twice before calling.

“Camille, the gate isn’t opening.”

“I changed the code.”

She stared into the camera.

“Why?”

“Because I changed it.”

“Sweetheart, I’m standing outside my daughter’s house.”

“Exactly,” I said. “My house.”

Dad stepped into view.

“Open the gate,” he said. “We need to discuss this like adults.”

“No.”

Mom started crying.

“Can we please just come inside?”

“No.”

They had their own home thirty minutes away.

When Mom asked, “Then where are we supposed to go?” I realized how completely everyone had come to believe my house belonged to the family.

“Go home,” I said.

Then I ended the intercom.

They remained outside nearly half an hour before leaving.

Once their car disappeared, I sat beside the sofa and cried.

Not because I regretted changing the code.

Because I finally understood how long I’d waited for permission to have boundaries.

Tasha stayed that night.

The next week brought calls from relatives.

My aunt Relle called first.