On Wednesday morning, as I was repotting a fern on my front porch, a familiar car pulled aggressively into my driveway.
Mark and Chloe got out.
Chloe looked furious.
Mark looked exhausted.
They marched up the front walkway.
Mark didn’t say hello.
He reached directly into his pocket, pulled out his silver spare key, and aggressively shoved it into my front-door deadbolt.
He tried to turn it.
It wouldn’t budge.
He pulled it out, checked the teeth, and shoved it back in, twisting harder.
“It’s not going to turn, Mark,” I said, stepping around the porch pillar with my watering can in hand.
He jumped, startled.
Chloe glad at me.
“You changed the locks,” she demanded, crossing her arms.
“I did,” I replied, carefully pouring a bit of water into the fern.
“Mom, this is insane!”
Mark threw his hands up.
“You cancel our family vacation, you strand us at the airport, you cancel my credit card, and now you lock us out of the house. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me.”
I set the watering can down and looked him directly in the eye.
“This is my house. You do not live here. You do not need a key.”
Chloe stepped forward, her face flushed.
“You owe my parents an apology, Helen. And you owe us for the non-refundable dog sitter we hired.”
“I owe you absolutely nothing, Chloe,” I said, my voice quiet but unyielding.
“You offered to pay for Hawaii,” Mark argued, pointing a finger at me.
“I paid for a family trip that included me,” I corrected him. “When you sat at my dining table and told me I was no longer welcome, you changed the terms. I just accepted them. You wanted a vacation without me, and you got exactly that.”