Fiona’s self-satisfied smile disappeared the moment she realized I was standing there.
Gregory slowly turned toward me, his confidence fading into uncertainty.
I glanced at the cardboard box on the floor, my father’s shaking hands, my mother’s tear-covered face, then calmly looked back at my sister.
“That is fascinating,” I said in an unnervingly calm voice. “Would you mind telling me once again exactly whose house you believe this is?”
Gregory recovered first, or at least he tried his hardest to appear confident.
He straightened his shoulders and gave me the same smug expression he displayed at every family gathering whenever he wanted everyone to think he understood business, the law, and life better than everyone else present.
“Lucas,” he said, forcing an empty laugh. “You picked an incredibly bad moment to come here.”
“No,” I answered while meeting his stare. “It seems I arrived at exactly the perfect moment.”
Fiona slammed her wineglass onto the counter with unnecessary force, making it strike sharply against the marble surface.
“Do not begin another one of your speeches,” she replied defensively. “You have absolutely no clue what has been happening inside this house.”
I studied my mother carefully and noticed her eyes were badly swollen, with a bru!se-like mark circling her wrist.
It was no longer deep purple, but it clearly showed that someone had gripped her arm far too hard.
My father struggled to straighten himself, forcing his back upright.
“Lucas,” he whispered weakly, his voice trembling. “We truly never wanted any conflict.”
Gregory let out a loud, mocking scoff.
“Conflict? The real problem is two elderly people occupying a mansion they can never maintain while their own daughter’s family is barely getting by,” he yelled.
“You honestly expect me to believe you are barely getting by?” I demanded, my anger rising.
Fiona folded her arms tightly across her chest.
“Not everyone is a rich technology executive with luxury condos and accountants handling everything,” she shot back.
I nearly laughed because the statement was so ridiculous.
It was exactly the pattern she had followed our entire lives.
When I earned a scholarship as a teenager, she insisted I had simply been fortunate.
When I worked three different jobs through college, she claimed I only pretended to be poor because I wanted sympathy.
When I eventually created my own company, she accused me of forgetting my roots completely.
Now she stood inside the home I had bought for our parents, behaving as though she were somehow the victim.
Gregory pointed accusingly toward my father once more.
“Samuel already agreed they would relocate into the little guest cottage behind the house,” he lied. “After that they would eventually enter assisted living, so we are simply making sensible choices for everyone.”
My mother immediately lifted her head with determination.
“We never agreed to anything like that!” she shouted.
Fiona rolled her eyes dramatically toward the ceiling.
“Mother, you were simply confused about the plan,” she replied in a deeply patronizing voice.