I secretly bought my dream house worth $1 million after 6 years of hard work. On moving day, I saw my sister’s husband and his family with the movers, trying to move their belongings inside. I smiled and politely invited them in. Then they suddenly stopped short, “Wait! This is not what we were told.”

Particular. I set my phone down on the island, screen facing up, still recording. “I never agreed to anything like this,” I said.

“Take all the furniture outside immediately. Tell the movers to stop.”

Lucy’s expression tightened, but before she could answer, Steve came in from the terrace. He removed his sunglasses slowly, like a man preparing to handle a delicate employee issue.

“Hey, hey, Jenny,” he said. “Don’t get so worked up. We’re family, aren’t we?”

He spread his hands, smiling in that broad, glossy way he used when pitching investors who did not yet know better.

“Sure, you might be paying the mortgage, but it’s our job to make good use of this amazing environment. You’re busy. You’re always on job sites, covered in mud, running around with contractors.

What are you really going to do with a place like this all by yourself?”