My parents flew every relative to my brother’s wedding except me. Dad looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not worth a plane ticket. Stay and watch the dogs.” Then he locked every bathroom in the house. I washed with dog shampoo and stayed silent. At Christmas, Mom asked me to house-sit again. My four-word answer made Dad drop his fork.

They arrived on a Sunday afternoon, heralded by the roar of two taxi cabs pulling into the driveway.

Laughter spilled across the front walk before the front door even swung open. Ryan came in first, deeply bronzed, wearing a linen shirt and carrying a leather weekend bag. Chloe followed, laughing at some private joke, displaying a sparkling eternity band on her left hand.

Behind them came Mom and Dad, laden with duty-free shopping bags and oversized sombreros from an afternoon jaunt to Tijuana.

"We're back!" Mom trilled, dropping her purse on the entryway table. "Oh, the weather was an absolute dream. Claire? Where are you? Baxter needs to be let out—did you remember his ear drops?"

I was sitting in the armchair by the bay window, my laptop closed on my lap, fully dressed in my work slacks and a tailored black blazer.

"Welcome back," I said evenly.

Ryan gave me an easy, patronizing half-nod. "Hey, squirt. Thanks for holding down the fort. You should’ve seen the venue, honestly. The waves were literally crashing behind us during the vows. Total movie scene."

"I saw the photos," I said. "All forty-eight of them."

Dad walked past me toward the hallway, already pulling his brass keys from his pocket. He clicked the deadbolts on the guest bedroom and the master suite, throwing the doors open to let the stale air circulate. He didn't say hello. He didn't ask how the week had been.

"Did you mow the back lawn?" Dad asked, checking the edge of the kitchen counter for dust with his index finger.

"No," I replied.

Dad frowned, turning around. "I left a note on the fridge. It rained on Thursday; the grass must be three inches high."

"I was hired to watch the dogs," I said, my voice steady, perfectly neutral. "Not landscape the property."

A sharp silence descended on the entryway. Ryan paused, his hand on Chloe's shoulder. Mom’s smile tightened into a thin, brittle line.

"Well," Mom said, clearing her throat with theatrical annoyance. "Aren't we prickly today? You spent a quiet week in a lovely, air-conditioned home while we were exhausted running around organizing a four-day event. You could show a little gratitude for having a place to stay."

"I live in my own apartment three miles away, Mom," I said gently. "I took a week of paid leave from my job to sleep on your sofa and wash my hair in your laundry tub."

Ryan scoffed, rolling his eyes at his new bride. "Here we go. Always the victim. Dad told you tickets were out of budget. If you worked in corporate sales instead of pushing papers, maybe you could've bought your own seat."

I looked at Ryan. Really looked at him.

He had the same jawline as our father, the same effortless confidence born from a lifetime of never being told no. He had spent his twenties failing out of two different colleges while Dad quietly paid off his debts, bought him a certified pre-owned BMW, and handed him down a business network built over three decades.

"You're right, Ryan," I said softly, rising from the armchair. "Budgets are important."

I picked up my briefcase.

Dad crossed his arms over his chest. "Where are you going? Dinner's in an hour. Mom picked up some frozen lasagna."

"I have errands to run," I said.

"Make sure you fill Baxter's water bowl before you leave," Dad ordered, his voice taking on that familiar, dismissive edge. "And leave the front door key on the hook. Don't take it with you."

I placed the silver house key squarely in the center of the kitchen island.

"Everything is where it belongs," I said.

As I walked out to my modest sedan parked at the curb, I could hear Dad through the open window grumbling about the faint scent of tea tree oil in the downstairs hallway.