Brooke threw both hands into the air. “You didn’t exactly say no!”
“I said you’re not moving in.”
“You were upset,” my mother said quickly. “We assumed you would calm down.”
That sentence nearly made me laugh, because it summed up my entire childhood. Every no I had ever given was treated like a temporary condition they expected me to get over.
I opened the door wider, keeping one hand clearly visible on my phone. “I have security footage from Thursday showing you entered my house without permission. I also have video of all of you showing up today with furniture after I clearly told you no. If you do not leave my property, I’m calling the police.”
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Travis scoffed. “You’d call the cops on your own family?”
“Yes.”
My father pointed at me. “You are acting like a spoiled little landlord.”
“No,” I said. “I’m acting like the homeowner.”
Brooke’s expression twisted. “You think you’re better than us because you bought a house?”
“I think I bought a house because I worked for it, and you tried to move into it because you found my address in stolen mail.”
My mother flinched when I said stolen, but she recovered fast. “I had a key to your apartment.”
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