In the reflection of the glass, the image of the beach house seemed to overlay the city skyline. The wide porch. The pale railing worn smooth by countless hands. The endless stretch of the Atlantic Ocean glimmering beyond the dunes.
My mother’s laughter drifted through my memory like a soft, warm breeze.
“Look at that wave, Rebecca. I swear it is bigger than you were when you were five.”
I blinked and pulled myself back to the present.
“The house is not yours to ban me from,” I said quietly.
“Oh but it is,” Diana shot back instantly. “Your father signed it over to me last month. It belongs to me now and I do not want you anywhere near it.”
A faint smile touched the corner of my lips.
“Thank you for telling me about the locks,” I said.
There was a pause. “What does that mean?”
But I had already ended the call.
The silence that followed felt unexpectedly calm. The city buzzed beyond my window, but inside the apartment everything seemed still as I walked down the hallway toward my small home office.
