My stepmother called me at the end of the day, her voice so smug I could practically hear the smile on her lips, and told me that from now on I would never be allowed to set foot in the family beach house again because she had already changed every lock.

I reached into the envelope and found the photocopy with my father’s signature. Harrison Beaumont had signed it in blue ink twelve years ago.

“None of Victoria’s hostility toward you was ever about your failures,” the letter said. “It was always about your presence because you were evidence of a life that did not begin with her.”

“Some people do not know how to join a family without trying to erase the part that came first.” Victoria made a sharp sound between her teeth across the table.

“Careful,” Lydia warned her. I read the final paragraph through my tears.

“Do not surrender what is yours simply because others call your self protection cruelty.” “If you are forced to choose between peace and quiet, choose peace because it lasts longer.”

“I love you more than I can fit on paper.” No one spoke for several seconds after I finished the letter.

The house creaked once in the wind as I looked at the pages in my hands. Victoria was the first to move as she gave a thin and mean laugh.

“How convenient for you to have a saintly letter from beyond the grave,” she said. “Ma’am,” the older officer said with a hardened face.

“You expect me to sit here while a dead woman’s paranoia is treated like scripture?” Victoria snapped. I turned to her and wiped the wetness from my face.

“You called the police and claimed I was trespassing on my own property,” I reminded her. “You changed the locks and took my mother’s belongings to the garage,” I added.

Victoria lifted her chin and refused to back down. “I improved this house and kept it alive while your mother froze it in time like a shrine,” she claimed.

“And I made it usable for the family,” she added. “For your family, you mean,” I countered.

Cassandra pushed back from the table so abruptly that her chair legs screeched. “Can everyone stop talking like I am not even in the room?” she asked.

“Then say something that is actually true,” I told her. She looked at Victoria and hesitated.

“Did Dad know about this?” Cassandra asked. Victoria didn’t answer her daughter.

“Mom, tell me the truth,” Cassandra demanded. “Your father knew enough,” Victoria finally muttered.

“He knew there was no point in arguing with a dying woman,” she added. The sentence was so ugly that it hung in the air like a stain.

Lydia stood up and began gathering the papers. “I think we have everything we need for today,” she announced.