The room held its breath. Guests leaned in. I saw phones being raised, their lenses hungry.

“We are thrilled,” my father declared, spreading his arms wide, “to announce our gift to the happy couple: the house on Juniper Avenue!”

The air left my body. It wasn’t a gasp. It was a silent vacuum.

The house on Juniper Avenue. My house.

The house I had found as a collapsed ruin. The house I had poured my savings and my blood into for three solid years. The house whose every beam, every new wire, every painstakingly restored piece of flooring I knew by heart.

The room erupted. Cheers, whistles, and thunderous applause.

“Oh, how wonderful!” a woman near me whispered. “Gregory is so generous.”