My stepmother called at 11:47 p.m. on the first night in the beach house I bought with my own money and told me she and my father were moving in the next day, that they were taking the master suite, that her daughter would get the best ocean-view room

The house was a massive estate on the California coast, yet Gillian always knew how to make achievements sound small and quaint. She told me they would arrive tomorrow and take the master suite while Paige took the room with the balcony.

“I do not remember inviting anyone to move into my home,” I responded firmly. Gillian sighed as if I were being a difficult child and told me that family did not need invitations.

She instructed me to make sure the linens were turned down and warned me not to use fabric softener because Paige had sensitive skin. I laughed because her sense of entitlement was so absolute that it was almost comical.

“I do not have a housekeeper,” I told her. Gillian paused for a moment before suggesting that perhaps I should hire one immediately.

She told me that if I had a problem with the arrangement, I was free to stay somewhere else since I liked being independent. I smiled because I knew she was lying about the entire situation.

“I will make sure everything is ready for your arrival,” I said calmly. She sounded satisfied as the line went dead, believing she had won another battle.

I immediately called my father, Randall, who answered on the second ring. He was seventy-one years old and had made his living in commercial real estate.

“Gillian said you both are moving in tomorrow and taking the best rooms,” I told him. The line went silent as Randall processed the fact that his wife had made a massive decision without his consent.

“Kaitlyn, what are you talking about?” he asked slowly. He explained that Gillian had told him I invited them for a long weekend because I was lonely in the new house.

He swore under his breath when he realized Gillian had lied to both of us to force her way into the property. He admitted that he did want to visit the ocean air, but he never agreed to move in or take over my space.

“Do you still want to come tomorrow?” I asked him. He stayed silent for a long time before saying that he felt he had to come now.

I made two guest beds that night because I wanted to create space for the lie to fully reveal itself. My mother had died when I was seventeen and Gillian had spent the last fourteen years slowly editing me out of my own family.