The first thing I noticed was how the sunset reflected off my apartment window, casting warm streaks of orange and pink across the glass.
It had been one of those exhausting days where the city felt like it had drained every ounce of energy from me. My laptop sat open on the counter, an unfinished email staring back like a reminder I didn’t have the strength to face. I stood by the window, phone pressed to my ear, watching the skyline cut sharply against the fading light.
Then, in that quiet moment, the last voice I wanted to hear broke through—sharp, almost satisfied.
“You’re banned from the family beach house. Forever.”
Victoria’s words snapped through the line like a whip.
My grip tightened. “What?”
“I’ve changed the locks,” she continued, savoring every second. “Don’t even think about coming here. This is what you get for ruining Lily’s graduation party.”
I stared at my reflection—messy hair tied up, oversized sweater slipping off my shoulder, dark circles under my eyes from too many sleepless nights.
“The party,” I said slowly, “the one you didn’t even invite me to?”
She scoffed.
“The one where you told everyone I was too busy to attend?” I added, keeping my voice calm, as I’d learned to do long ago. Showing emotion only fed her.
Victoria laughed—a brittle, cutting sound. “Stop acting like a victim, Alexandra. Everyone knows you’re jealous of Lily. And now, you’re never stepping foot in that beach house again.”
Jealous. That word again. She had used it for years—not because it was true, but because it was convenient.
For a moment, the reflection in the glass blurred into memory—the wraparound porch, chipped white railings, the ocean stretching endlessly beyond. The beach house.
My mother’s laughter echoed in my mind, carried on salt air.
I blinked, pulling myself back to the present.
“That house isn’t yours to ban me from,” I said quietly.
“Oh, it is,” she replied confidently. “Your father signed it over to me last month. It’s mine now—and I don’t want you anywhere near it. You’re just like your mother, always acting entitled.”
That insult didn’t sting anymore. It was predictable.
A faint smile touched my lips. “Thanks for telling me about the locks,” I said.
She paused, confused. “What does that—”
I ended the call before she could finish.
Silence filled the apartment, broken only by distant city noise and the low hum of appliances.
Banned from the beach house.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and walked to my small home office—a cramped corner with an old desk, a secondhand chair, and stacks of mismatched boxes.
