Brandon pressed the intercom again, voice rising. “Mom, don’t be stubborn. There’s a storm coming. You need family.”
Family.
As if he hadn’t tried to weaponize family into a court case.
As if he hadn’t called APS.
As if he hadn’t tried to pry my locks open.
I spoke into the intercom once, keeping my voice low and clear.
“You are trespassing,” I said. “Leave now.”
Brandon’s voice sharpened. “This is ridiculous—”
A siren cut him off, distant at first, then closer.
He turned his head toward the road, and even through the camera I saw his posture change. Not regret. Calculation. He didn’t want deputies on his record again.
Melissa tugged his arm. Patricia gestured in frustration.
Brandon leaned in one last time, trying to salvage the performance. “I’m trying to help you,” he called.
“No,” I said, voice steady. “You’re trying to be seen helping.”
The deputies arrived, headlights cutting through rain. Brandon backed away before they even reached the gate.
By the time the deputy knocked on my front door—professional, calm—Brandon’s car was already disappearing down my street.
The storm outside kept roaring.
But inside my house, something settled.
Not fear.
Certainty.
Brandon had tried to use the hurricane as a ladder back into my life.
Instead, he’d just shown the court exactly what kind of man he was under pressure.
The same kind.
Only now, I was done treating him like a weather event I had to endure.
I was treating him like a threat I knew how to contain.
Part 10
The hurricane never hit us head-on.
It skirted the coast, angry and unpredictable, dumping rain and pulling the ocean into a frenzy, then drifting north like it had simply come to remind everyone who was in charge. We lost power for a day. A few homes down the road lost sections of roof. The dunes shifted. The beach looked rearranged, like a child had dragged fingers through sand.
When the wind calmed, the neighborhood emerged slowly—people checking fences, pulling debris out of yards, waving at each other with that quiet camaraderie you only see after shared danger.
I walked the property with David on a video call, showing him any damage so insurance could be filed properly. “Shingles are intact,” I said. “No flooding inside. Some deck furniture got scuffed, but that’s cosmetic.”
“Good,” David said. “You got lucky.”
“I got prepared,” I replied, and I didn’t say it with arrogance. Just truth.