But that afternoon, I didn’t need to raise my voice.

“You damaged the walls,” I said.

“You don’t know that.”

“You left the faucets running.”

“You can’t prove—”

“And you smashed my grandmother’s mirror.”

His expression changed.

For a moment, I thought I saw shame.

Then he lowered his voice.

“Nicole, it was just a mirror.”

My father stepped beside me.

He didn’t threaten Brian.

He didn’t shout.

He simply stood close enough that our shoulders touched.

Then he said, very calmly:

**“No. It was the one thing you knew you couldn’t replace.”**

Brian looked at him.

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

He said nothing.

I turned away.

With my father on one side and Claire on the other, I walked down the hallway without looking back.

Over the following weeks, the house slowly began to feel like mine again.

The contractors repaired the damaged drywall.