No gossip. No judgment. Only logistics: steps, timelines, documentation — a controlled extraction.

The second call was to an attorney, not to sue, but to protect. Paige’s “we’re coming anyway” wasn’t just rude — it had been a warning. Once law enforcement had been involved, it had crossed a line I would no longer dismiss.

Janice Mercado’s voice was calm, firm. “Do you have documentation?”

I sent screenshots: Facebook event, “real cousins” comment, texts about Motel 6 and exclusion.

“Legally speaking,” she said with satisfaction, “this is helpful.”

“What are my options?”

“Draft a formal notice: trespass warning, cease and desist. Clear language stating they have no access. Any attempt is trespassing. Harassment — social media, group chats, indirect contact — must cease.”

“It sounds… extreme,” I admitted.

“It’s proportionate,” she corrected. “You already tried reasonable. Reasonable allowed this to escalate.”

That afternoon, Ethan and I sat at the kitchen table. Milo worked on homework at the far end, chewing her pencil like it contained algebraic secrets.

Ethan nudged Paige’s group chat toward me. “Are we telling her?”

She was bent over her notebook, braid falling forward.

“I don’t want to hand her adult chaos,” I said.

“She already feels it,” Ethan said quietly. “Kids know when they’re being edged out. They just don’t have the words.”

He was right.

After dinner, I asked Milo to sit with me on the couch. Ethan stayed nearby, present but not hovering.

“Milo,” I said gently, “I want to talk about the gate.”

“I didn’t let Grandma and everyone in,” I explained. “Because they planned it without asking. And because they’ve said and done things that aren’t kind to you.”

She met my eyes. “Like the boat?”