David David shifted his weight, refusing to meet my eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d had since childhood.
“Mom, listen. Sarah’s parents are selling their place up north. They need somewhere to land. We figured since you only use this house a few weeks a year, it was basically empty. It just makes sense for them to move in. We’re upgrading the property value for you.”
“You are destroying my property,” I corrected quietly.
I walked past them, heading toward the hallway.
The master bedroom.
My bedroom was completely gutted.
The bed frame was gone. The carpet had been ripped up, exposing the plywood subfloor. Blue painters tape marked where the walls were going to be knocked down to create an onsuite bathroom.
Sarah trailed behind me, her heels clicking on the bare wood.
“It’s going to be gorgeous, Hannah. White shaker cabinets, quartz countertops. My mother has a very specific aesthetic. And don’t worry about your things. We boxed all your clothes clothes and put them in the tiny guest room near the back door. You can use that room when you visit.”
I turned to face her.
“When I visit my own home.”
“Well, it’ll be their primary residence,” Sarah pointed out, crossing her arms. “We have to be practical. You have the house in the city. You don’t need two master bedrooms.”
I looked at the blue tape on my walls.
Then I looked at my son, who was standing in the doorway, looking everywhere but at me.
They hadn’t asked.
They hadn’t even hinted at this.
They just assumed I would roll over and accept becoming a guest in the home I bought with my husband’s memory.
“Who is paying for this crew?” I asked, my tone dangerously even.
Sarah smiled proudly.
“We put the deposit on the emergency credit card. The contractors start the heavy plumbing tomorrow.”
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t tell them to get out.
I simply picked up my overnight bag, walked down the hall to the tiny cramped back bedroom, and closed the door behind me.
Inside, my clothes were crammed carelessly into three cardboard boxes.