I just wanted to spend a quiet weekend at my beach house. But my sister’s husband was already there with his entire family and shouted, “What is this parasite doing here? Get out right now.” I smiled and said, “Okay, I’m leaving.” But what happened next made him regret saying those words.

Those words hit me like a slap in the face.

I was frozen at the door of my own beach house, with my weekend bag still hanging on my shoulder, staring at my brother-in-law.

His face was twisted by contempt, and his finger pointed at me as if I were an unwanted intruder.

Behind him he could see his parents, his two brothers and several relatives sitting all over my house, drinking beer in my glasses and leaving his shoes lying on my white carpet in the living room.

My name is Valeria. I’m thirty-two years old. I am a marine biologist and I work in the city of Veracruz, where I have spent almost ten years building a career that I am proud of.

The beach house where I was now being shouted at the door is not just any house.

It’s mine.

I bought it three years ago with the money I saved after many years of work and investing carefully, as a reward for so many years of effort and sacrifice.

The house is right in front of the sea, in Costa Esmeralda, in the state of Veracruz, about two hours drive from the city.

It’s my refuge, the place I go when I need to get away from the work, the noise and the stress of the city.

But seeing my brother-in-law’s furious face, anyone would think I was the one who was invading the property.