I bought my parents a $650,000 cottage by the ocean for their 40th anniversary so they could finally rest. A few months later, my mother called me sobbing because my sister’s husband had changed the locks, put the house up for short-term rent, and told my father, “Get out. This isn’t your home.”

He pronounced the word practical with the specific inflection of men who believe that efficiency should always trump things like loyalty or history or basic human decency.

“You decided this?” I asked as I turned my gaze toward my sister who was still trying to disappear into the shadows of the porch.

Megan finally spoke up, but her voice had that thin and defensive quality that I remembered from our childhood whenever she knew she was defending the wrong side.

“Gavin, you need to remain calm because you are clearly overreacting to a simple management decision,” she said with a forced sense of indignation.

I simply stared at her while the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks filled the silence that stretched between us.

The entire coastline continued to exist in its cold and expensive beauty, which only served to make me angrier because this place was supposed to be a sanctuary.

“Overreacting?” I asked while gesturing toward our mother who was still shaking in the driveway. “Our mother is in tears and our father has been locked out of his own house, yet you think this is nothing?”

Chadwick let the keys jingle one more time as a smug expression crossed his face.