Another pause.
Then Gavin sighed.
“I assume this has something to do with Christmas dinner.”
“You have no idea.”
By noon, Brittany arrived without warning.
I saw her through the security camera standing outside my door with DeAndre.
He carried a tape measure.
She carried nursery catalogs.
I did not open the door.
Brittany knocked again.
“Cass? We need to measure the rooms.”
I continued packing.
DeAndre called through the door.
“We’re on a schedule here.”
I almost admired the confidence.
They had been promised my property less than twenty-four hours earlier, and they were already renovating it in their heads.
Brittany phoned me.
I answered.
“We’re outside.”
“I know.”
“Open up.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then: “Excuse me?”
“I’m working.”
“We need measurements.”
“You do not need anything from my condo today.”
Her voice sharpened immediately.
“Mom said—”
“I have to go.”
I disconnected.
Seconds later, DeAndre began knocking hard enough to rattle the door.
I called building security.
They were escorted out seven minutes later.
That was the first moment the story began changing inside my family.
Until then, I had been the cooperative sister who had smiled at Christmas dinner and promised to leave.
Now I had denied them access.
My mother sent me a message.
Stop creating unnecessary drama.
My father sent another.
You are making this harder than it needs to be.
Brittany sent the longest one.
She reminded me she was pregnant.
She told me stress was dangerous for the baby.
She accused me of punishing her children because I was jealous of the life she had built.
Then came DeAndre.
You gave your word in front of the family.
A verbal agreement is still an agreement.
That line interested me.
I forwarded it to Gavin.
He replied with two words.
Keep everything.
The inspection happened the following day.
Marcus arrived with an evaluator while I was moving boxes into a rented storage unit.
I had already arranged a short-term furnished apartment in another part of Seattle under a six-month lease.
Not my parents’ basement.
