I opened the door cautiously but kept the chain latched.
“What do you want?” I asked.
His face looked older than I remembered. Not just age—weight. Shame.
“Evelyn,” he said softly. “Can we talk?”
I didn’t move. “About what?”
He swallowed. “About… everything.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“You should have done that four months ago,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then he said something that surprised me.
“Your mother’s not doing well.”
I stared at him. “That’s not my responsibility.”
“I’m not saying it is,” he said quickly. “I’m not. I just… I need you to hear me.”
My hands trembled on the chain.
He continued, voice low. “Brianna is… Brianna is worse than your mother right now.”
That made my stomach drop.
“Worse how?” I asked.
He hesitated.
Then he said, “She’s been telling your mother you’re going to ‘come around’ eventually, and when you do, you’ll pay for everything. She keeps calling your house ‘the family house’ like it’s hers too.”
My blood went cold.
“She’s been asking about your mortgage,” he added quietly.
My throat tightened.
“Why would she ask about my mortgage?” I whispered.
My father looked away, shame flooding his face.
“Because,” he said, voice cracking slightly, “they used your money to pay for the baby shower, but they also… they also used some of it for something else.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
“What?” I demanded.
He swallowed hard.
“They’re behind on their bills,” he said. “Trevor lost hours. The baby expenses are stacking. Your mother… she took your money and paid a couple of their things too.”
I felt like the porch tilted under my feet.
They didn’t just steal my party.
They used my money to patch their own holes.
And they never told me.
Of course they didn’t.
My voice came out shaking with rage.
“You’re telling me now?”
My father nodded, eyes wet. “I didn’t know at first. I thought… I thought it was just the party. But your mother told me later.”
He took a slow breath.
“And Evelyn,” he added, voice barely above a whisper, “they’re talking about getting access to your house again.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?” I asked sharply.
My father swallowed.
“Your mother made a copy of your spare key.”
The world went cold and silent all at once.
I stared at him, unable to breathe.
“I changed the locks,” I finally managed.
My father nodded quickly. “Good. Thank God.”
Then he said the sentence that made my knees weak.
“They tried your old key last week.”
My skin prickled violently.
“They… what?”
My father’s face crumpled. “They went over when they thought you’d be out. They tried to get in. Your mother came home furious because it didn’t work.”
My hands tightened on the door chain so hard it hurt.
Jason came up the driveway right then, bags in hand, eyes widening when he saw my father.
He slowed, reading the tension instantly.
My father looked at Jason, then back at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry I let it get this far.”
I didn’t know what to say.
My father’s apology didn’t erase decades of favoritism.
But the fact that he was here, alone, telling me they tried to break in…
It meant something had shifted in him.
Not enough to trust him completely.
But enough to understand the danger.
I exhaled shakily.
“Dad,” I said quietly, “why are you telling me this now?”
He swallowed hard.
“Because,” he admitted, “I’m scared of what your mother and Brianna are capable of when they don’t get what they want.”
My throat tightened.
He looked down, ashamed.
“I should have been scared sooner,” he whispered.
Jason stepped beside me, his presence grounding.
“Do you need help?” Jason asked, voice calm but firm.
My father shook his head. “I just needed to warn her.”
He looked at me one last time.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he said. “But I needed you to know… you were never wrong to call the police.”
My chest tightened painfully.
Then he turned and walked back down the steps.
I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of anger and grief and something softer that I didn’t want to name.
Jason closed the door gently behind him and looked at me.
“They tried to break in,” he said.
I nodded, voice thin. “Yeah.”
Jason set the bags on the counter, then reached for my hands.
“Evelyn,” he said softly, “we need cameras.”
I blinked. “I have a doorbell camera.”
“More,” he said firmly. “Around the house.”
The fact that he didn’t hesitate—didn’t say “maybe you’re overreacting”—made my throat tighten.
Because he saw it as what it was:
A threat.
That afternoon, we installed a security system. Motion sensors, cameras, alerts to my phone. I upgraded everything. It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it to sleep without feeling like my house was a stage someone else could enter anytime they wanted.
That night, I sat in my living room and replayed my father’s words:
They tried your key last week.
It made me realize something dark.
My mother didn’t just hijack my party. She didn’t just lie.
She believed she owned access to my life.
And when access was denied, she escalated.
The next morning, I got a notification from my bank.
Unusual login attempt detected.
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