The words struck me so suddenly that I froze in the doorway with my overnight bag still hanging from my shoulder. I stared at the man yelling at me, trying to understand how I had somehow become an unwelcome guest inside my own property.
The man glaring at me was my brother in law, Bradley Norton. His face was tight with anger and his finger was pointed straight at my chest as if I had just broken into someone else’s house.
Behind him the living room looked like the aftermath of a family reunion. People I barely recognized were stretched across my couches. Someone was drinking from one of my wine glasses. A pair of muddy sneakers rested on the white carpet I had spent months protecting.
My name is Abigail Foster. I am thirty two years old and I work as a marine biologist in Wilmington, North Carolina. For the past decade I have built my career studying sea turtles and coastal ecosystems, and the beach house where I was now being yelled at was something I had purchased with my own money after years of saving and investing carefully.
The house sat along the coast near Cape Lookout, about two hours from Wilmington. I had bought it three years earlier when a foreclosure opportunity appeared, and after months of renovation it had become my quiet refuge from long days at the marine research center.
Looking at Bradley’s furious expression, you would think I was the trespasser.
“Excuse me,” I said slowly while trying to keep my voice calm. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” Bradley snapped without hesitation. “We are having a family gathering here and nobody invited you.”
I blinked in disbelief. “Bradley, this is my house. I own this place.”
He folded his arms and leaned back slightly as if the statement meant nothing to him. “Well my wife said we could use it this weekend,” he replied. “So unless you want to ruin everyone’s vacation you should turn around and leave.”
My eyes moved past him until they landed on my older sister standing near the kitchen island.
Her name was Lauren and she was three years older than me. At that moment she was staring down at her phone like the screen was the most fascinating object in the world.
“Lauren,” I called out. “Can we talk for a minute?”
She slowly lifted her head and gave me a careful expression that looked almost rehearsed.
“Abigail, I honestly did not think you would come here this weekend. You are always busy with work.”