“We put a tarp over it,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s perfectly fine, Calla. You’re overreacting.”

“It’s my house, Rylan,” I said, the words hot and sharp in my throat. “It was my grandmother’s house. You had no right to break that lock.”

At that moment, Solene walked into the kitchen, carrying an empty baby bottle.

She stopped when she saw my face, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Is there a problem here?” Solene asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

“Calla is upset about the sewing room,” Rylan told her.

Solene let out a short, sharp laugh.

“Oh, honestly, Calla,” Solene said, setting the bottle in the sink with a loud clack. “We are trying to accommodate a toddler. That bulky old machine was just taking up space that my grandson needs.”

“That bulky old machine belonged to my grandmother,” I said, turning to face her. “And this is my home. You don’t get to break into my rooms and move my belongings.”

Solene looked at Rylan, raising her eyebrows as if to say, *Are you going to let her speak to me like this?*