Gregory kicked the cardboard box toward Dad’s shoes.
“The door’s right there,” he said. “Use it.”
Nobody moved.
Even my nephews had gone silent in the living room.
Dad looked down at the box instead of answering.
That hurt more than Gregory’s shouting.
My father had worked forty-three years without once asking me for money. He had driven the same truck until rust ate through the wheel wells. He had missed vacations so Fiona and I could go to college.
Now he was standing inside his anniversary gift like a trespasser.
I closed the front door behind me.
The music stopped.
Fiona’s smile disappeared.
Gregory slowly turned around.
“Lucas,” Fiona said quickly. “Good. We were actually going to call you.”
“Were you?”
Gregory folded his arms.
“This is family business.”
I looked at the box by Dad’s feet.
“It certainly is.”
Fiona set down her glass.
“Mom and Dad can’t maintain a property like this. Gregory and I have been discussing what makes sense for everyone.”
“And throwing them out makes sense?”
“Don’t twist it,” Gregory snapped. “We’re taking responsibility for the place.”
Then he made his mistake.
He reached onto the entry table and picked up a manila folder.
“We’ve already prepared paperwork,” he said. “Samuel just needs to sign.”
Dad’s eyes met mine.
For the first time, I understood why he was shaking.
They hadn’t merely decided to stay.
They had been pressuring my parents to sign something.
