When I Moved Into My First House, I Came Home One Night To Find My Parents Sitting In The Living Room. When I Asked Why, My Mom Smiled And Said: “We’ll Treat It Like A Family Place Now.” I Didn’t Argue.

I smiled. “I love spending my Saturdays on hold with the impound lot. You’ll have to pay the fine yourself.”

She blinked at me, trying to gauge if I was bluffing.

When I didn’t flinch, she looked at Mom. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “I can’t live like this.”

“Oh, relax,” Mom said.

“It’s just temporary.”

“Right,” I said. “Until Monday.”

Natalie frowned. “What’s Monday?”

I pointed to the fridge.

“Read the notice.”

She walked over, still wearing her sunglasses indoors, of course, and read aloud. “Notice of security update. Unauthorized occupants must vacate by Monday at 10:00 a.m.”

Then she laughed.

“Oh, come on. You really printed this? Are we in a sitcom?”

“Nope,” I said.

“A trust.”

Dad turned. “You’re still going on about that trust nonsense?”

“Not nonsense,” I said. “Legally binding.”

Mom crossed her arms.

“Carrie, this is petty. You’re tearing the family apart over a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” I repeated, taking a slow breath. “You moved into my house, changed addresses, ate my groceries, and turned my guest room into a studio.”

Natalie perked up.

“It’s not a studio. It’s a branding space for my career.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A ring light and borrowed walls don’t make a career, Natalie.”

She scoffed.

“You’ve always been jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” I asked. “Your unpaid internships or your inability to read a contract?”

Mom gasped softly. “Carrie.”

“Page two,” I said.

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