The polished walnut table belonged to my grandmother.
The cream-colored curtains had been selected after I purchased the house using profits from my interior design business.
Every mortgage payment had come from my earnings.
Yet these people discussed my home as though I were merely borrowing it.
“What about your apartment?” I asked Teresa.
“We’ll keep it available, obviously.”
Her expression hardened.
“But we’ll be much more comfortable here.”
David nodded enthusiastically.
“You already have the space, and Mom feels safer with family.”
I suddenly understood that the conversation had been rehearsed without me.
They weren’t requesting permission.
They were announcing my new responsibilities.
I wanted to refuse immediately, but years of emotional exhaustion had taught me how quickly David could turn disagreement into guilt.
So I lowered my eyes.
“Fine.”
Teresa looked triumphant.
David kissed my forehead.
Neither noticed that I had stopped smiling.
That evening, while he packed, I watched him carefully.
