Their rent had increased.
They had already given notice on their apartment.
After New Year’s, they planned to move into my vacation home.
At first I assumed she meant Ashley, Jason, and their two children.
Then she mentioned her mother.
Her younger sister.
Possibly her brother.
“How many people are planning to live in my house?”
Ashley looked almost confused.
“It’s family.”
“Are you planning to pay rent?”
Her expression changed.
“We’re family. We’re not going to pay rent for a place that already belongs to you.”
That sentence told me exactly how she saw my house.
It belonged to me when property taxes came due.
It belonged to me when insurance had to be paid.
It belonged to me when hurricanes damaged the roof or appliances failed.
But when it sat empty for a few months, suddenly it belonged to everybody.
I looked at Jason.
“If you were struggling, why didn’t you ask me?”
He hesitated.
Then gave me the answer that hurt most.
“We knew you’d probably say no.”
There it was.
Not a misunderstanding.
Not confusion.
They knew I might refuse.
So instead of asking, they built a plan designed to make my answer irrelevant.
They spent the money.
Surrendered their apartment.
