Chapter 3Selling The Illusion Of Home

When I came downstairs the next morning, the dining room was packed with guests eating breakfast.

Ryan was setting a tray of fresh blueberry muffins on the buffet. He saw me and waved cheerfully. "Morning, Nora! Perfect timing."

He walked over to my table and slapped a thick stack of printed spreadsheets down next to my coffee mug.

"Since we got the boundaries sorted out yesterday, I spent last night doing a little historical bookkeeping."

I looked down. The spreadsheets were meticulously itemized.

Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Memorial Day I had spent at the house over the last five years. Gas mileage for the times Haley drove to the airport to pick me up.

There was even a line item that read: Mom's homemade chicken noodle soup when Nora had the flu - $20.

I flipped through page after page, my fingers growing numb. At the very bottom of the final sheet, in bold font:

Total Back Pay Owed: $15,000.00

I was nothing but a customer to them. I always had been.

Ryan kept his voice perfectly pitched—casual, but loud enough for the neighboring tables to catch the drift. "I know it looks like a lot, Nora, but business is business. You used to treat this place like your own private resort. Come and go as you please, free room and board. But Mom and Dad are getting older, and Haley and I have kids to feed. We can't keep subsidizing your life."

Haley was standing by the coffee station. She didn't try to stop him. In fact, she stepped forward to back him up.

"Ryan's just trying to make things equitable, Nora. You've never paid a dime when you stayed here. The business ate all those costs."

I looked at my mother. "Mom? Do you also think I owe this family fifteen thousand dollars?"

She gripped a dish towel, her eyes darting away from mine. "Well, Ryan did the math. If that's what it costs, maybe you should just pay it. It’s not like you’re hurting for cash, Nora."

I shifted my gaze to my father. He scowled, crossing his arms.

"Stop living in the past, Nora. You think because you helped out once, you get a free ride forever? We're the ones maintaining this property. What's wrong with helping your sister out?"

Ryan leaned against the table. "You helped out initially because you wanted to. But let's be real—you've got your own life in the city now. You're not part of this household anymore. Expecting to come back and crash here for free is just inappropriate."

Not part of this household anymore.

The words hung in the air. The clatter of silverware around us had stopped entirely.

"Wow, that’s the older sister?" a woman at the next table whispered to her husband.

"To be fair, expecting a free vacation at an Airbnb is kind of entitled."

"Fifteen grand is steep, but they're right—it's a business."

I looked at my parents' hard faces, at Haley's entitled pout, at Ryan's smug smirk.

If they wanted to clear the ledger, we would clear the ledger.

I picked up my phone. "Pull up the reader."

Ryan blinked, clearly not expecting me to fold so easily. Then his eyes lit up with unmasked greed. He hurriedly punched the number into his tablet and held it out.

Transaction Approved. $15,000.00.

When the tablet chimed, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. Ryan stared at the screen, a massive grin splitting his face.

Haley let out a loud, theatrical sigh of relief. "See, Nora? Why did we have to make this a whole thing? Now the books are clean, and we can just be family again."

I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

"Yes. The books are clean."

I turned and walked toward the stairs. Behind me, Ryan couldn't keep the triumph out of his voice. "See? Some people will treat their family like a free hotel until you force them to pay up."

I walked into the Magnolia Room, locked the door, and took a photo of the spreadsheet. I texted it to Sarah.

"Set the meeting for this afternoon."

Sarah replied a minute later. "The buyers are already in Autumn Creek. They're willing to pay in cash, over your asking price, but their condition is a rapid handover. They want possession immediately."

I typed back without hesitation. "Done."