Chapter 2: The Beginning of the End

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of power tools. The drill was buzzing like a fly in my ear. Through my window, I could see Kyle installing something on the patio. A ceiling fan, apparently. Because nothing says “temporary stay” like home improvement projects.

I groaned, pulling the covers over my head in an attempt to block out the noise. But sleep wouldn’t come. The reality of the previous night kept slamming into me, the weight of what had happened pressing down on my chest. My family, my parents, they had moved in without asking, without any consideration of my feelings. And now they were rearranging my life piece by piece, like it had always belonged to them.

I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and walked to the kitchen. Blair was already there, of course, her morning routine running like clockwork. She was on the phone with someone about grocery delivery. “Yes, this is the address. Now, we’ll need the usual order, plus some things for the baby.”

I stood in the doorway, watching her as she moved through the kitchen like she owned it. I had built this place for myself—every corner, every appliance. It had taken years to make it mine. And now, it was already becoming theirs.

I grabbed a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest.

“Where did all this come from?” I asked, gesturing toward the kitchen’s immaculate shelves and the half-empty boxes still cluttering the countertops.

“Storage unit,” Blair said, glancing over at me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ve been paying for it since the foreclosure, but now we can finally bring our things home.”

She held up a ceramic angel that had belonged to my grandmother. “Doesn’t this look perfect here?”

It was the same gesture she always made—trying to control everything, trying to take everything from me. She didn’t even ask. She never did. It was as though my space, my life, had always been part of her plan to save me from myself.

I didn’t answer, instead grabbing the real estate brochure that had been left on the counter. I had seen it earlier in the week, buried under the pile of paperwork Blair had organized. It was for a small bungalow across town—the place I had actually bought, the home I was really planning for.

“What’s this?” Blair asked, noticing the brochure in my hand.

I froze for a moment, then smiled, trying to keep my voice steady. “Work project,” I said smoothly. “Market analysis.”

Blair nodded, already losing interest. “Well, don’t bring work home. You’re supposed to be relaxing now that we’re here to help.” She moved over to the wine fridge, opening it with a soft “whistle.”

“This is nice,” she said, looking at the bottles inside. “You really thought of everything.”

“Saved up,” I replied, avoiding her eyes. “You know how I am with money. Too careful, if you ask me.”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Money’s meant to be spent.”

She opened the wine fridge and pulled out a bottle, examining it like she was about to critique it in front of a crowd. “Well, now you can relax. You won’t have to worry about it anymore, sweetheart.” She patted me on the shoulder like she was doing me a favor.

I wanted to scream. To tell her that I didn’t need her help, that I had made this place mine with my own two hands, with my own hard work. But I didn’t. Instead, I smiled tightly, feeling the familiar rage bubble under my skin.

“Of course,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

By 10 a.m., the house was a full-on construction zone. Kyle was mounting a new flat-screen TV in the guest room, or rather, the room that had once been my guest room. It was now just a placeholder for their belongings. Blair was on the phone with the grocery delivery company, giving them instructions for baby items and other things I didn’t need to know about.

But the worst part was Callie.

Callie waddled into the kitchen wearing a robe that wasn’t hers—my robe, actually. The one I had left in the master closet when I’d moved in. It was a small, personal thing that she had probably taken without even asking. She rubbed her belly like she owned it, like she had a claim on everything I had worked for.

“Is that my old robe?” I asked, my voice strained.

Callie looked down at the robe with a smile. “You left it in the master closet. It’s so comfortable for pregnancy.”

I blinked in disbelief. “I didn’t leave it there. You took it without asking.”

She shrugged, unfazed. “Well, I’m using it now. It’s perfect for me.”

Blair appeared from the kitchen, looking between us. “Isn’t it sweet? Callie’s making herself at home.”

My chest tightened again. I wasn’t ready to argue with her. I wasn’t even sure I could. But I was done. I was so done. This wasn’t my house anymore—it was their home now, a place they had taken from me without a second thought. They would never understand that this wasn’t just a matter of moving furniture or changing paint colors. They had erased everything I had worked so hard for.

I needed to get out. I grabbed my purse and started for the door, my phone buzzing in my pocket.

“Where are you going?” Callie asked, following me.

“Work,” I muttered. “I have to get some things done.”

At the coffee shop, Vada was waiting, her usual stressed-out look replaced with something more concerned.

“You okay?” she asked, setting down her coffee as I slid into the booth across from her.

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice hollow. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to admit that I was crushed, that I felt completely invaded. That my own family had reduced me to nothing more than a prop in their own story.

“You don’t look fine,” Vada said, her eyes narrowing. “They’re pushing you too far, Kayla. You can’t just let them take over like this.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” I said, my hands trembling as I wrapped them around my coffee cup. “They’ve taken everything from me before, and now, they’re doing it again. But this time, I’m not just going to sit back and let it happen.”

Vada raised an eyebrow, her tone more serious than I’d ever heard it. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make them feel what I’ve been feeling for the last five years,” I said quietly. “I’m going to take back control.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and phone calls. I couldn’t concentrate. My mind kept drifting back to my house, the one I was supposed to be living in alone. The one that had been completely consumed by my family. I had no peace. No space to breathe.

I knew what I had to do. The thought had been lingering in the back of my mind since the moment they first walked through the door. But now, it felt clear. I had to make a choice.

That evening, as I returned home, I was met with the usual chaos. Kyle was cooking something on the grill in the backyard. Callie was lounging in the pool, her swollen belly floating in the water. Blair was organizing my kitchen like she owned it.

I walked past them, into the kitchen, and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote down what I needed to say. What I had to do.

And then, I dialed the number.

To be continued…