I canceled my trip to keep an eye on my inherited apartment and discovered my family moving in with a locksmith: “She’ll only cry for a few days,” they said… but they didn’t know the police were already on their way.

Maya did not join in the laughter; she remained standing by the front door, looking pale and deeply troubled by the situation.

I picked up the hotel phone and dialed the police, providing the dispatcher with my existing case report number.

“The intruders are already inside the premises,” I said with a voice that was surprisingly steady, “they are looting my home right now.”

The emergency operator instructed me to stay exactly where I was and warned me not to approach the building for my own safety.

On the screen, I saw my mother pick up a framed photograph from the bookshelf that showed me and my grandfather on my graduation day.

She stared at it for a few seconds with a grimace, then carelessly tossed it into a large cardboard box filled with junk.

The sound of the glass shattering was picked up by the microphone, but my mother didn’t even bother to look down at the damage.

My father was standing by the large window, pacing back and forth as he talked loudly into his mobile phone.

“Yes, the Riverside Park apartment is officially available for viewing starting today, and we can list it on the premium market by the weekend,” he said.