“I’m listening,” I answered, focusing on the soil.
“I feel like there’s a lot of hostility in the house right now,” she sighed. “David is so stressed, and I just… I don’t feel welcome here anymore. We’re family. Families are supposed to support each other.”
I turned off the hose hose and wiped my hands on a towel.
“What does support look like to you, Sarah?”
She perked up, thinking she had found an opening.
“Well, just a little more understanding. Like before, sharing meals, helping out with the chores, not locking us out of the Wi-Fi, and David mentioned you changed the bank account.”
Her slip was showing. She cared about the money.
“I did,” I confirmed.
“But his paycheck used to root there for the household expenses,” she pressed.
“Which you never actually paid,” I reminded her. “The mortgage is paid off. The utilities come out of my retirement fund. Where exactly was David’s money going, Sarah?”
She bristled, the fragile act dropping instantly.
“We are saving for our future. You have more than enough. It’s incredibly selfish of you to hoard resources when your own son is trying to build a life.”
I looked at her. Truly looked at her.
The sheer audacity was breathtaking.
“My resources are exactly that: mine,” I stated firmly. “I worked for 40 years as an accountant. My husband worked on the railroad. We built this life. You do not get to walk in and demand the fruits of our labor because you find working for your own too difficult.”
I picked up my watering can.
“Sunday dinner is at 6. I suggest you both be on time.”
I walked inside, leaving her fuming on the porch.
The real estate agent was coming at noon while they were out, and I had a house to stage.
Sunday arrived with a heavy, stifling atmosphere.
Sarah’s parents, Richard and Linda, pulled into the driveway at exactly 5:45 p.m.
From the moment they walked in, Sarah took over. She greeted them at the door, took their coats, and ushered them into the dining room like she owned the place.
I stayed in the kitchen quietly plating the roast chicken and roasted vegetables I had prepared.
“Teresa, the house looks lived in,” Linda commented smoothly as she took her seat.