Same wind. Same sea. Same home — but no longer hers in practice.
She walked up the steps slowly and inserted her key into the lock.
It didn’t turn.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Then the door opened from inside.
Tiffany stood there, holding a cup of coffee, as if she owned the moment itself.
“You again?” she said, smiling.
Rosalind’s voice was low.
“This is my house.”
Tiffany tilted her head and lifted a new key between her fingers.
“We changed the locks,” she said casually. “Peter agreed. You should’ve called first.”
A faint laugh came from inside the house.
Rosalind’s gaze sharpened.
“Where is my son?”
Before Tiffany could answer, a man’s voice shouted from inside:
“TIFFANY— STOP—”
The entire house seemed to freeze.
Rosalind stepped closer, forcing her eyes past Tiffany’s shoulder.
And then she saw it.
Boxes.
Documents.
Legal folders spread across the table.
Her name missing.
Another name quietly appearing where hers should have been.
Her breath stopped.
Tiffany whispered, almost proudly:
“You didn’t really think this house was still yours, did you?”
Rosalind didn’t answer.
Her hand slowly tightened around her original key.
Inside the house, footsteps rushed toward the door—
And just as someone reached out from behind Tiffany—
Rosalind’s expression changed completely.
