My sister announced in the family group chat that I was officially banned from the reunion and she made it clear no one was to tell me where it would be. I didn’t argue. I didn’t reply. I simply opened the location pin… and laughed so hard I had to cover my mouth.

That would have remained the plan if they hadn’t made the mistake of trying to erase me. Thirty days ago, I received a calendar invite for a “Family Sync” regarding the summer reunion. My mother sat in her sunroom on the video call, looking perfectly poised in her pearls.

“We want this year to be truly restful, Katelyn,” my mother said with a tone that was thick with fake concern. “And honestly, you’ve been so high-strung and distracted lately. You seem to suck the energy out of the room with your work talk.”

I knew what was coming before she even said it. I had refused to co-sign a fifty-thousand-dollar loan for Monica’s latest “lifestyle brand” two weeks earlier. I had declined to give her my credit, so now I was being exiled from the family.

“We think it’s best if you skip this one,” Monica chimed in while sipping a glass of wine. “It’ll be less drama for everyone if you just stay in the city and focus on your little computer projects.”

My father sat there and said absolutely nothing to defend me. “Your mother just wants a nice time, Kate,” he muttered. “Maybe you can join us next year.”

The call ended, and I was immediately booted from the group chat. But before I was gone, I saw the address my mother posted for the “luxury rental” she had supposedly secured for the week. 12 High Dune Way. My house.

I sat in my apartment for an hour in total shock. I eventually figured out that she must have bullied a junior employee at my property management company into giving her a “direct booking.” She probably pretended to be my representative and used her “queen of the world” voice to bypass the rules.

Instead of calling the police right then, I decided to let the scene play out. I wanted them to get comfortable. I wanted them to unpack their bags and pour their wine before I showed them exactly who was in charge.

Now, back in the present, I check the dashboard clock. 3:20 p.m. They have been inside for exactly twenty minutes. I watch as lights flick on in the upstairs windows. They are currently fighting over the best bedrooms.

My mother will take the master suite with the balcony. Monica will take the room with the best lighting. Jason will probably crash on the sofa near the big-screen TV. I can see them through the windows, moving around my living room like they’ve owned it for years.