Mom responded almost immediately.
“Our plans aren’t changing. If that bothers you, recover somewhere else.”
Their indifference stunned me. Both understood the seriousness of my procedure, yet neither had visited me in hospital, contacted my surgeon, or offered practical support. Somehow, they still expected me to vacate the property I owned so they could enjoy a weekend there.
I typed a single word.
“Okay.”
Then I phoned Martin, the lawyer who’d overseen my purchase of the beach house seven years before.
“Please tell me they can’t make me leave,” I whispered.
“They absolutely cannot,” he replied. “Hannah, stay where you are.”
Martin arranged short-term assistance at home and drafted formal notice withdrawing my parents’ permission to enter. I felt reassured by his help.
Thursday evening brought another surprise. A family friend forwarded an email in which Dad promoted a three-day beachfront getaway. Twelve invited guests had each paid $500 toward their stay, amounting to $6,000. This wasn’t merely my parents planning to visit: Dad was making money from accommodation he had no right to offer. He had concealed both the guests and their payments.
