I opened the door but left the storm door locked.
“You need to leave,” I said.
My father raised both palms.
“Jenna, please. We are not here to fight.”
“Then why are you here?”
My mother wiped her face.
“We need a family solution.”
That phrase almost made me smile.
In my family, a family solution usually meant I gave something up so everyone else could stop feeling uncomfortable.
Ryan stepped forward.
“The hotel is too expensive. We found a couple rentals, but nothing is working out yet.”
Kelsey added, “Your carriage house is empty.”
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not accountability.
A new request dressed as desperation.
The detached carriage house behind my home was unfinished, full of tools, paint samples, and contractor estimates.
I planned to renovate it into a rental studio someday, maybe for traveling nurses or graduate students.
Kelsey had seen empty space and translated it into entitlement.
