“No, that’s all. Thank you.”
Leaving the bank, the final string tying me to my daughter’s financial chaos was cleanly severed.
On the way home, I made a quick stop at the local hardware store and purchased two high-grade deadbolts.
I called a neighborhood handyman from the parking lot.
It was going to be a very productive morning.
I pulled into my driveway just as the handyman arrived.
It took him less than 45 minutes to completely swap out the locks on my front door and the side gate leading to the backyard.
I paid him in cash, thanked him, and went inside to brew a fresh pot of coffee.
I settled into the armchair by the front window with a book, waiting.
I knew their routines, and I knew their temperaments.
At exactly 1:00 in the afternoon, David’s SUV aggressively hopped the curb and parked halfway on my lawn.
Sarah threw her door open before the car even fully stopped.
Her face flushed red with fury.
David trailed behind her, looking exhausted and deeply irritated.
I watched through the sheer curtains as Sarah marched up the porch steps.
She dug into her designer purse, pulled out her old brass key, and jammed it into the new deadbolt.
She tried to turn it.
It wouldn’t budge.
She frowned, pulled the key out, inspected it, and shoved it back in, twisting with all her might.
Nothing.
Realizing she was locked out of her childhood home, she began hammering her fists against the heavy wooden door.
“Mom, open this door right now. I know you’re in there.”
I set my coffee mug on the coaster.
I walked slowly to the foyer.