quickly. “You gave Mom and Dad the keys—”
“To visit,” I interrupted. “Not to host a wedding. Not to have 150 people on my property without my knowledge or consent.”
My father crossed his arms. “You’re being dramatic. It’s just a house—”
“It’s my house,” I said clearly. “That I bought. That I own. That’s registered in my name. Not a rental. Not borrowed.continue reading …