PART 5 – The Invitation My Neighbor Brought Me Revealed That Thirty-Four Strangers Had Been Invited to My Own Home

I kept the cream-colored envelope in my purse for the next two days.

I didn't want to leave it where someone might find it again.

That may sound excessive, but after discovering the tape across the flap, I no longer felt comfortable assuming my private things were private.

I still didn't know who had opened it.

Cullen had been in the house before.

Blythe had been there too.

I had no proof either of them had touched the envelope, and I refused to accuse someone without knowing what had happened.

But I couldn't ignore what I had found.

On the third afternoon, my neighbor stopped by.

She lived close enough to the beach house to notice when cars came and went.

We had known each other for years, and she was one of the few people who still remembered Nile's habit of sitting on the porch after dinner.

She stood at my door holding a large envelope.

"I thought you should see this."

I invited her inside.

She placed it on the table between us.

The paper was thick and expensive.

The lettering was elegant.

At the top was a message welcoming Cullen and Blythe home.

I read it slowly.

Then I read it again.

It was an invitation to a celebration at my beach house.

My beach house.

Laurelai and Miles were listed as the hosts.

The event was intended to welcome the newly married couple back from their honeymoon.

I turned the invitation over, expecting to find some explanation on the back.

There was nothing.

"Where did you get this?" I asked.

"My friend received one. She thought I might know what was going on."

My neighbor watched my face.

"Are you having a party?"

"No."

The answer came out more sharply than I intended.

I took a breath.

"No, I haven't agreed to anything."

She sat down across from me.

She told me that the invitation had been circulating among people in the area.

The celebration was supposed to take place on September 26.

The same day Cullen had told me he would return from Hawaii.

The same day he had said he was going straight to the beach house.

I looked again at the invitation.

Someone had arranged an event around a decision I had never made.

I asked how many people were expected.

My neighbor said thirty-four invitations had reportedly been sent.

Thirty-four.

I imagined strangers arriving in expensive cars, walking across the porch, and congratulating Cullen on his new home.

I imagined Laurelai standing near the front door, welcoming everyone as if she owned the place.

And I imagined myself being expected to hand over the keys in front of all of them.

The thought made my hands go cold.

"Did they tell people I had agreed to this?" I asked.

My neighbor couldn't say for certain.

She only knew what the invitation suggested.

The celebration was being presented as a welcome-home gathering, not a request for permission.

I thanked her for bringing it to me.

After she left, I sat at the table with the invitation beside my purse.

I thought about calling Laurelai.

I could have demanded that she cancel the event.

I could have told her that nobody was permitted to use my property without my approval.

I could have called Cullen and warned him that the entire gathering was based on an assumption he had no right to make.

Instead, I picked up the invitation and examined the details once more.

The date was clear.

The address was clear.

The hosts were clear.

There was no mention of me.

Not even a small note saying the gathering would take place with the owner's permission.

I folded the invitation along its existing crease.

Then I placed it beside the cream-colored envelope.

Two pieces of paper.

One announcing an event at my house.

The other containing documents someone had apparently tried to open without my knowledge.

I didn't know what connected them.

But I knew I would not spend another day pretending nothing was happening.

That evening, I called my attorney.

I explained that Cullen had claimed the house was going to be his.

I told him what Miles had said about documents supposedly signed in June.

I also described the envelope and the tape.

My attorney listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he reminded me that assumptions and conversations did not replace properly completed legal documents.

He wanted to review the papers he had prepared and confirm exactly what had been signed, if anything.

I agreed.

I wasn't going to rely on what Cullen said he had seen.

I wanted the actual documents examined.

Before we ended the call, I mentioned the celebration.

"My son's in-laws have invited people to my property."

"Have you authorized the event?"

"No."

"Then make your position clear, and keep a record of what you've received."

I told him I would.

After the call, I placed the invitation in a folder.

I kept the cream-colored envelope with me.

I didn't feel brave.

I felt frightened of what might happen when everyone arrived.

I was seventy-one, and I had never expected to spend my time defending my right to decide who entered my home.

But the invitation made one thing painfully clear.

If I did nothing, other people would continue treating my silence as permission.

I would have to be there on September 26.

Not to host their party.

Not to satisfy Laurelai.

Not to prove that I was capable of making my own decisions.

I would be there because it was my house, and I had every right to decide what happened at its front door.

Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Read the Invitation Again and Realized They Had Planned a Celebration Around a Promise I Never Made