I Was Still Recovering From Surgery When My Sister Called: "I'm Dropping Off My 3 Kids With You. You're Not Doing Anything Anyway—I'm

December 28th, 2:30 PM.

The winter afternoon was overcast and bitterly cold. A gray sky hung over the city as Julian and I stood in the driveway of Lydia's suburban home.

In the four days since Christmas, Marcus had finalized every legal document. The property's lock system had been upgraded to a smart biometric security system. The utility bills—previously registered under my name—had been officially transferred to the estate trust.

A heavy, official envelope sealed in red ribbon rested on the kitchen counter inside the house, containing the full restructuring terms, the financial audit of the past five years, and a formal legal summons regarding the kids' trust estate.

"She just landed," Julian said, checking his phone. "Flight status shows touched down at 2:15 PM. She'll be here in an hour after customs and bag claim."

"Where are the kids?" I asked.

"Mrs. Gable took them to the local winter carnival for the afternoon," Julian replied. "They won't be anywhere near this when she arrives."

"Good."

We went inside and waited in the living room. The house was quiet, smelling slightly damp from days of disuse. Looking around, I saw evidence of Lydia's chronic carelessness everywhere: unpaid bills piled high on the entryway table, expensive designer clothes tossed haphazardly over chairs, and an empty fridge that she expected me to magically restock.

At 4:45 PM, a rideshare car pulled into the driveway.

Through the window, we watched Lydia step out. She looked glamorous, wearing a new oversized beige trench coat, designer sunglasses despite the gray weather, and dragging two massive, newly purchased suitcases overflowing with Tokyo shopping bags.

She marched up the walkway, pulled out her house key, and inserted it into the front door lock.

It didn't turn.

She tried again, jiggling the handle aggressively. "What the hell?" she muttered loudly through the door.

She tried a third time, then knocked sharply on the wood. "Caleb? Are you in there? The lock is stuck!"

I walked over, unlocked the deadbolt from the inside using the keypad interface, and opened the door.

Lydia stood on the porch, her arms crossed, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Finally! What is wrong with this lock? I've been traveling for fourteen hours, I'm completely exhausted. Help me with these bags."

She took a step forward to push past me into the foyer, but I stood firmly in the doorway, blocking her entrance.

She stopped, blinking in surprise. "Caleb? Move. It's freezing out here."

"You can come in, Lydia," I said calmly, stepping aside just enough for her to enter the foyer, but leaving her heavy suitcases out on the porch. "But we need to talk before you go any further."

She rolled her eyes, taking off her sunglasses. "Talk about what? Look, if this is about me leaving the kids, I told you—it was a once-in-a-lifetime deal! I needed a break! You're fine, aren't you? You're standing up!"

Then, she noticed Julian sitting calmly on the sofa in the living room, holding a stack of legal documents.