PART 4 — The SUV in My Driveway

At 9:47 the next morning, a black SUV rolled into my driveway like it had every right to be there.

I watched from the upstairs window, barefoot on hardwood floors that still felt too clean for real life. The ocean was bright, gulls diving and lifting like nothing in the world could be complicated.

Victoria stepped out first—champagne sundress, oversized sunglasses, hair pinned back in that effortless-on-purpose way.

Paige followed in white linen, already filming my porch like she was giving a tour.

Then my father climbed out of the passenger side.

That made my stomach tighten.

He looked smaller than I remembered. Older. Tie loosened even though it was Saturday. He wasn’t dressed for a beach weekend.

He was dressed like he’d been dragged into a decision he didn’t make.

I walked downstairs, opened the front door, and stepped onto the porch.

Victoria beamed. “There she is,” she said brightly. “Our girl.”

I held my coffee steady. “Victoria.”

Paige waved without looking up. “Hey.”

My father’s eyes met mine—tired, apologetic. “Brooke,” he started carefully, “Victoria told me you invited us—”

“I didn’t,” I said.

Victoria’s smile didn’t flicker. “Oh, Gerald, don’t start. Brooke’s just stressed. New house, big commitment. She’ll calm down once we’re settled.”

She had rehearsed this—the narrative, the posture, the way she positioned herself as the reasonable one before anyone else could speak.

“Dad,” I said, “can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

Victoria laughed. “Families don’t keep secrets.”

My father hesitated—peace over truth, the habit he’d practiced for fifteen years.

I didn’t let him.

“Dad,” I repeated, gentler, “just a minute.”

He nodded.

Victoria waved Paige forward. “Take the bags inside. Put mine in the primary bedroom.”

Paige grabbed a suitcase and headed straight toward my front door like she lived here.

I stepped sideways and blocked the entry.

Paige blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Not letting you in,” I said, still calm.

Victoria’s sunglasses angled toward us. “Brooke, don’t be dramatic.”

“Paige,” I said, meeting her eyes, “go sit in the car.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”

“Go sit in the car.”

Paige looked to her mother for backup.

Victoria’s smile tightened—mask still on, strain showing at the seams.

I turned to my father. “Dad, Victoria called last night and said you approved them moving in. You didn’t. That means she lied.”

His face changed. “She said you offered the house for a family reset.”

I almost laughed at the phrase.

“I didn’t offer,” I said. “This is my property. They don’t have permission to enter.”

Victoria’s voice sharpened. “Gerald, tell her.”

He looked between us, trapped. “Victoria, why would you—”

“Because your daughter is selfish,” Victoria snapped, the first real crack. “This house is bigger than she needs. We’re family. We should be here together.”

My father’s confusion and hurt rose like tidewater.

And suddenly I wasn’t seventeen anymore, begging him to see what was happening.

I was thirty-four.

And I could set the rules.

“Dad,” I asked quietly, “do you trust me?”

His eyes softened. “Of course.”

“Then come inside,” I said. “Alone.”