While I was on a business trip overseas, my parents sent me an email saying they had sold my seaside villa to settle my sister’s gambling debts.

You didn’t need it anyway, right?

Without responding, I reported it to the police.

But there was something they didn’t know yet.

When the real estate agent called them…

Standing on the veranda of the seaside villa, I gripped my phone tightly. The screen flashed with the word “Dad.” Anger swirled deep within my chest.

“You went ahead and did whatever you wanted, didn’t you?” I said, my voice trembling.

On the other end of the line, I could hear the breathing of my father, Daniel.

“Margaret, I thought you’d understand. Diana needs money. If we don’t pay off the debt, well…” He hesitated. “It’s only natural for family to help each other.”

At his words, I let out a bitter smile.

The usual family card.

I am Margaret Moore.

My parents, who adored my two-years-younger sister Diana, had always been like this.

My earliest memory was of my fifth birthday. I was overjoyed when my parents gifted me the red bicycle I had been dreaming of. But that happiness didn’t last long. Diana took an interest in the bike and soon claimed it as her own.

“Diana wants it, doesn’t she? You’re the big sister, so let her have it.”

In the end, the bike became Diana’s.

“But it was my birthday present,” I had protested weakly.

My small protest fell on deaf ears.

When I entered elementary school, the same thing happened. The pencil case I received as a gift for starting school caught Diana’s eye. Eventually, I was made to switch to a different one.

“Diana is still young, so she wants what you have,” my mother explained, always giving in to Diana’s demands.

Extracurricular activities were also all about Diana. When I expressed my desire to take swimming lessons, my parents immediately shut it down.

“We’re spending money on Diana’s piano lessons. Besides, Diana would feel lonely on her own.”

For Diana’s activities—piano, ballet, painting—money was no object. Meanwhile, I wasn’t allowed to do anything outside of school clubs.

Whenever I finished my homework and wanted to go out to play, I was told:

“Help Diana with her studies.”

Both of our parents attended Diana’s school events. But when it came to mine, they always said:

“We are too busy at work.”

Even when I came in first in a race during Sports Day, no one noticed because Diana had fallen and was crying. During an open school day, I gave a speech as class president, but my parents skipped it to attend Diana’s event.

When I was elected as a class representative in sixth grade, I didn’t even bother telling my parents. I knew the conversation would just circle back to Diana.

What stands out most in my memory was my third year of high school. I worked tirelessly to get accepted into my first-choice university, but my parents’ reaction was cold.

“Oh, that’s nice,” my mother said indifferently. “I’m more interested in Diana’s mock test results.”

That evening at dinner, my mother made all of Diana’s favorite dishes. It was supposed to be a celebration of my achievement, but every topic revolved around Diana. No one shared in my efforts or joy.

For Christmas, Diana always received expensive gifts while I got practical items like stationery or clothes. Even the travel expenses for my club competitions were denied because “the money was needed for Diana’s piano lessons.”

“Diana is sensitive. Diana is delicate.”

By the time I entered university, I had completely given up on my relationship with my family.

It was during this time that I met Ken in the windsurfing club.

I was a freshman and a total beginner, constantly at the mercy of the waves. Ken, on the other hand, was older than me and the captain of the club.

On the first day of practice, I was thrown into the sea countless times. I swallowed saltwater and my eyes stung unbearably. Just as I was about to give up, Ken extended his hand to me.

“Everyone starts like this,” he said. “I fell all day long when I was a freshman too.”

I cannot describe how much those words saved me.

Up until then, I had rarely experienced kindness in the face of failure.

One particularly memorable moment happened on the final day of our training camp. At dusk, I was alone, battling the waves. I hadn’t managed to stand up even once that day, and this was my last chance.

“Margaret, the wind is shifting!” Ken shouted from the shore.

The moment I heard his voice, everything suddenly became clear: the direction of the wind, the movement of the waves, the feel of the board.

Before I knew it, I was standing on the waves.

“I did it!” I shouted.

My teammates cheered, but the only thing I saw was Ken’s beaming smile.

“Don’t tense up on the board,” Ken gently advised me. “Feel the waves and move with them.”

For some reason, those words deeply resonated with me. No one had ever treated me with such care before. My parents always focused on Diana and showed little interest in my efforts or achievements.

“Margaret, you’ve got talent,” Ken told me. “Your intuition for reading waves is amazing.”

It wasn’t just his technical guidance that drew me in. It was also his kindness and the occasional mischievous expression he wore.

A few months later, we started dating.

When I graduated from university, we decided to turn our passion for marine sports into a business and started an import company.

The people around us were against it. My parents in particular strongly opposed the idea.

“How do you plan to survive with such an unstable business?” my father asked.

“Diana is struggling, so you need to help the family,” my mother said, her mind still entirely consumed by Diana.

My younger sister Diana had dropped out of university, hopped from one part-time job to another, and spent her days aimlessly having fun. Every time she racked up debts, my parents stepped in to clean up after her. They always defended her, calling her “a poor child.”

In contrast, they placed strict demands on me.

But Ken was different. He believed in my dreams and was ready to walk the path with me.

“If it’s us, we can make it happen,” he said.

With those words in my heart, we took one step at a time to grow our company.

Our first office was a small apartment, thirty minutes on foot from the nearest station. All the furniture—desks, cabinets—was secondhand.

“This is our starting line,” Ken said with a laugh.

And I laughed with him.

Finding business partners was far more challenging than we had imagined.

“You’re too young. You have no track record.”

We were rejected time and time again.

But we refused to give up. We attended marine sports tournaments, built relationships with athletes, and gradually earned their trust.

Our turning point came when we met a small manufacturer in Australia. They had also just started their business and were looking to expand into the U.S. market. Perhaps our passion resonated with them, and we managed to secure an exclusive distributor contract.

The night we signed that contract, we celebrated in our office with a cheap bottle of sparkling wine while snacking on canned appetizers. We talked about our future.

Looking back now, that might have been the true beginning of our journey.

“How do you plan to survive with such an unstable business?” my father had asked.

“Diana is struggling, so you need to help the family,” my mother insisted.

But we moved forward anyway.

The business, which began in a small warehouse, is now recognized within the industry. And five years ago, we finally achieved our dream of owning a vacation home.

We found this property shortly after we began searching.

Perched on a hill surrounded by trees, it offered a breathtaking view of the ocean that instantly captivated us.

“This is the one,” Ken said.

And I was thinking the same thing.

My parents opposed it again.

“It’s unnecessary to spend so much money on such a luxury,” they said.

But their disapproval wasn’t just about the expense. They still hadn’t fully accepted my work.

However, that didn’t matter to me. This was the proof of the dream Ken and I had built together.

On our first night at the vacation home, we sat on the deck gazing at the starry sky as we listened to the sound of the waves. Ken held my hand.

“Margaret, let’s grow old together here.”

Those words still warm my heart today.

But everything started to crumble with a single phone call from my father.

It was the morning of the second day after I returned from a business trip to Southeast Asia. I was visiting the vacation home.

“Margaret, I need to talk to you,” my father said, his tone carrying a hint of forced confidence.

“Did something happen?” I asked casually.

At that moment, I had no idea I was about to be pulled back to harsh reality in such a way.

“It’s about your vacation home,” my father began.

His words immediately gave me a sense of unease.

“The vacation home? What about it?”

“I’ve already sold it. The ownership transfer will take place next month.”

For a moment, I couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words.

Sold. Transfer.

Our precious vacation home.

“What are you talking about?” My voice trembled.

“Diana is in trouble. She failed at an investment and now has $200,000 in debt,” my father explained, his tone sounding like an excuse.

“And what does that have to do with our vacation home?” Anger burned hot in my chest.

“Margaret, I thought you’d understand. Diana needs money. If we don’t help, the collectors—”

“You went ahead and did whatever you wanted, didn’t you?” I said in an icy voice, my grip on the balcony railing tightening.

“You barely even use the vacation home,” my father said, his tone growing more forceful. “Diana’s life is at stake. Is a vacation home you rarely use more important than your sister’s life?”

“That’s Diana’s problem,” I replied, struggling to keep my trembling voice steady. “To sell the vacation home without our consent—how did you even manage to proceed with the sale?”

I sensed a moment of hesitation in my father’s response.

“I had your signatures, and the documents were already prepared.”

“You forged them.”

My heart pounded as the gravity of my parents’ actions began to sink in.

“Margaret, listen to me. Diana isn’t at fault. She was just tricked—”

“No. This is a crime. An unauthorized sale is fraud,” my voice was cold. “I’m contacting the police.”

I heard my father gasp on the other end of the line.

“The police? Don’t be ridiculous. How can you bring a family matter outside?”

“No, this isn’t just a family matter. It’s a crime,” I said firmly, gripping the railing tighter. “Dad, Mom—it’s time you stopped cleaning up Diana’s messes.”

Before me stretched the vacation home that Ken and I had worked so hard to save for over the years. It was the place where we dreamed, windsurfed, and gazed at the stars while sharing our hopes for the future.

“Margaret, we’re family, aren’t we? Helping each other is what family does,” my father pleaded, his voice shifting to a tone of desperation.

“Yes, we’re family,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “And that’s why I have to report you and Mom for fraud.”

As I ended the call, only the sound of the waves remained in the air. The salty breeze cooled my flushed cheeks.

I couldn’t believe my parents had sunk this low. Their twisted devotion to Diana had finally crossed an unforgivable line.

Perhaps in part I was to blame for not stopping them sooner.

But enough was enough.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and returned inside the vacation home.

An hour later, my phone rang again. This time, it was Ken.

“Margaret, are you okay?” Hearing his voice, I felt a little calmer.

“Yes. I just finished talking to my father.”

“I got a call from the potential buyer,” Ken said, his voice steady. “It turns out they’re one of my younger friends from university. When I explained the situation, they understood immediately. The sale has been called off.”

I let out a deep sigh of relief.

At least that was one problem solved.

“Thank you, Ken.”

“I also heard from the police. They found the forged documents your parents used.”

His words made my chest tighten.

How far are you willing to fall, Dad and Mom?

Ken arrived at the vacation home later that evening. Even in the middle of his workday, he had come to check on me out of concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his gentle voice bringing me a much-needed sense of comfort.

Ken gently embraced me in his arms. The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over.

“Why… why would they do this?” I sobbed. “Do they think they can do anything as long as it’s for Diana?”

“Margaret,” Ken stroked my hair as he spoke softly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, I’m proud of you for standing your ground.”

Those words soaked into my heart.

The following day, the police launched a full-scale investigation. My parents were subjected to questioning on charges of attempted fraud. My mother called me repeatedly, but I didn’t answer.

A week has passed since then.

On the deck of the vacation home, we watched the sunset over the ocean. The sound of waves crashing against the shore quietly soothed my heart.

“I remember,” Ken said quietly, “the day we found this place.”

I remembered too.

The day we toured the property, we decided on the spot. Though the house was old, fixing it up became part of our memories. We repainted the railings, replaced the floorboards, and renovated the kitchen. Every bit of work was done by the two of us. Sometimes we argued, but even those moments now feel nostalgic.

“Margaret,” Ken said, holding my hand, “we’re in this together. Whatever challenges come our way, we’ll face them as a team.”

I nodded.

My relationship with my parents may never return to what it once was.

But that’s okay.

This is our life, our choices, and this seaside vacation home is the proof of our love.

Meanwhile, the police investigation progressed steadily. As it unfolded, more details about my parents’ actions came to light. They had known from the beginning that the property was jointly owned by Ken and me, yet they proceeded with the sale anyway. The forgery of documents was carefully planned.

It was revealed that during their explanation to the prospective buyer, they provided false information. They had been preparing for this for three months. First, they forged my signature. Then they skillfully imitated Ken’s signature to falsify the agreement of sale. To the real estate agent, they lied, saying, “Our daughter and her partner are being relocated overseas and can no longer manage the property.”

The most shocking revelation was that my mother had spread rumors in the neighborhood. She claimed, “Margaret and her husband racked up debts and are forcing us to clean up after them.”

She was willing to tarnish her own daughter’s reputation just to protect Diana.

“Diana got involved in a fraudulent investment scheme,” my mother reportedly confessed tearfully during the police questioning. “It was supposed to be just $10,000 at first, but before we knew it, it had become $200,000.”

My parents had drained their savings and sold off land to cover the debt. Even that wasn’t enough, so they tried to sell our vacation home to make up the difference.

“Diana isn’t to blame,” my mother insisted during questioning. “She was just tricked. She’s not as smart as Margaret.”

It was said that even the officer conducting the interrogation was left speechless by her words.

My emotions were complicated. I could hardly believe my own parents had resorted to such actions.

Then, one day, Diana contacted me.

“How could you do this, sis?” she shouted into the phone. “Turning our parents over to the police is cruel!”

Her victim mentality was as present as ever.

I responded calmly.

“Diana, do you realize they tried to sell the vacation home Ken and I cherish just to cover your debt? That’s a crime.”

“But we’re family, aren’t we?” she insisted. “I’m really struggling here.”

“It’s time you started taking responsibility for your actions. I’m done cleaning up after you.”

After hanging up, an overwhelming fatigue washed over me.

Since childhood, Diana had been coddled by our parents. While I studied diligently and worked hard at my job, Diana lived recklessly, relying on our parents to bail her out every time she failed.

I’d lost count of how many times Diana had racked up debt.

It started with a student loan during her one-year stint in college. Initially, it was a small amount—$3,000 from a consumer finance company. Her reason?

“To go shopping for luxury brands with friends.”

Instead of scolding her, my parents excused her behavior, saying, “She’s just a young girl. It can’t be helped,” and paid off the debt immediately.

Two months later, we discovered she had misused her tuition money. It had been spent on trips with friends and new clothes. My father dipped into his savings to cover the $33,000 shortfall.

“Diana lacks life experience,” they said. “It’s natural she doesn’t understand the value of money.”

Rather than reprimand her, my parents defended her with excuses.

In her third year, Diana abruptly announced she was dropping out of college. Her reason?

“I can’t keep up with the classes.”

Shortly after, she began working part-time at a restaurant. There, she started dating a customer. Eventually, he introduced her to an investment scheme and she lost $38,000.

“You wouldn’t understand, Margaret, because you’re so smart,” Diana said, glaring at me as if I were the problem. “He’s the only one I have.”

My parents begged her to break up with him and managed to persuade her. But once again, they paid off her debt. Their retirement savings were nearly depleted.

And now this—duped by another fraudulent investment scheme, Diana had accrued $200,000 in debt.

This time, my parents had no means left to cover it. So they turned to selling our vacation home.

“They spoiled her too much,” I had always pointed out.

But my mother would shake her head.

“Diana is a fragile girl. We have to protect her.”

My parents’ excessive devotion to Diana was destroying her. She lacked any sense of personal responsibility, repeating the same mistakes while insisting, “I’m the victim.”

When I decided to start my own business, my parents vehemently opposed it.

“You should just join a stable company,” they said. “You need to be responsible for Diana too.”

But I had already escaped from that curse. With Ken as my partner and supporter, I had begun to walk my own path.

And yet, my parents tried to take away the place that meant so much to us.

In the end, the total debt, as far as I knew, exceeded $400,000. Every time my parents defended Diana as “the poor girl” and continued to clean up her messes—

“Diana isn’t at fault. Society is just too harsh. You’re lucky, Margaret, so you should help.”

Those words now echoed with bitter irony.

In the end, my parents ruined Diana’s life by spoiling her, and now they were trying to destroy ours as well.

“Maybe they never really accepted what we do for a living,” Ken said seriously.

He was right. Their attempt to sell the vacation home was just an extension of their lack of understanding.

“Perhaps that’s why they were able to decide so easily to get rid of something we cherished.”

“But that’s their problem,” I said firmly. “Our bond is something no one can break.”

Ken smiled gently. That smile always gave me strength.

We had our own path. The memories etched into this vacation home were proof of that.

As autumn deepened, the sea grew rougher little by little. We sat close together on the deck, watching the sunset over the ocean.

My relationship with my parents and Diana would likely never return to what it once was.

But that was my choice.

The final report from the police arrived with the onset of winter. My parents were prosecuted and received a suspended sentence.

I discarded their apology letters without reading them.

Sometimes, forgiving only enables the repetition of wrongdoing.

That was a lesson I had learned.

A year has passed since then.

According to a neighbor who spoke to my mother’s friend, my parents are still struggling to repay their debts. After the fraudulent sale of the vacation home was exposed, my father had to resign from his job.

My mother now juggles part-time jobs: early mornings at a warehouse, packing at a food factory during the day, and working the register at an hour supermarket at night.

“I heard the Moores are having a tough time,” I overheard a housewife gossiping near the supermarket register where my mother worked. “She has lost so much weight.”

Their family home has already been sold, and my parents and Diana now live in a cheap apartment on the outskirts of town. Their retirement savings and all their funds were depleted, and they took on more debt to pay off Diana’s.

“Margaret, can’t you help your parents?” relatives called me multiple times with the same question. And every time, I gave the same answer.

“They’ll have to solve their problems on their own.”

Diana hasn’t changed.

She met a man at a nightclub and is now considering another investment scheme.

“This time it’s foolproof. I’m definitely going to make money.”

When my parents tried to stop her, Diana lashed out.

“I’m struggling and you’re acting like Margaret—so cold-hearted. Just help me!”

But my parents no longer had the means to support Diana. They were barely managing to keep up with monthly repayments. My father had taken on a night security job, working weekends without a break. My mother spent her days scouring supermarket sales for discounted items.

“She can’t afford to be picky,” neighbors would say, though she was once seen crying alone on the roadside late at night.

Diana, angry at being “abandoned” by my parents, directed all her fury toward me.

“This is all your fault, sis!” she wrote. “Reporting them to the police ruined everything. We could have solved it all just by selling that stupid vacation home.”

One day, I ran into my mother at the supermarket. She was unrecognizable—her hair now white, her back hunched. When our eyes met, she hurried away, avoiding me. Her shopping basket was filled with soon-to-expire discounted food items.

My father, meanwhile, reportedly collapsed during his late-night security shift. The diagnosis was overwork. Still, he returned to work without rest, knowing that if they fell behind on payments, the collection calls would never stop.

At the end of the year, I received an email from Diana.

Margaret, lend me $50,000. I promise I can turn everything around with it.

She had maxed out her consumer loans. Her credit cards were unusable. There was no one left—friends or acquaintances—she could borrow from. Cornered, Diana was turning to me for help.

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I sent my parents information on counseling and debt relief services.

That was the most I could do for them now.

“Why didn’t we realize what was happening before it got this bad?” The words of my mother’s friend lingered painfully in my heart.

But this was the path my parents had chosen. Their blind devotion to Diana had ultimately brought the entire family to ruin.

I sighed deeply as I gazed out at the ocean.

At night, Ken came up behind me and gently placed his arms around my shoulders.

“You’re not at fault,” he said.

I nodded quietly at his words.

I had made the right choice. It was a painful but necessary decision.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ken said, his expression serious. “What if we use this vacation home as a venue for charity events?”

“Charity?” I asked.

“Yes. Let’s give underprivileged kids the chance to experience marine sports.”

I was deeply moved by his suggestion. Having experienced the loneliness of being misunderstood by my own family, I wanted to support children who felt the same isolation.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said.

Ken continued.

“Your parents saw this place as nothing more than a piece of real estate. But to us, it’s a place of dreams. If we could share that dream with others…”

I took his hand in mine.

Ken always understood the deepest corners of my heart.

“Let’s do it,” I said with determination.

We changed into our wetsuits. Riding the waves, I felt a pure sense of happiness.

Yes, my relationship with my biological family was lost. But I had chosen my path, and that choice wasn’t a mistake.

Listening to the sound of the waves, we looked toward the future.

This vacation home will continue to nurture our dreams.

And now, it will also become a place of hope for others pursuing dreams of their own.