Linda swallowed hard.
“Ethan said it's time for us to step aside. He told me that this property should belong to him and Ashley now.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
She continued, her voice breaking.
“He said we've already enjoyed this house long enough. According to him, it's his inheritance anyway, so he doesn't see why he should have to wait.”
Then she said something that made my chest tighten.
“He told me to pack my belongings and be gone before you came home.”
For several seconds, I stood there in stunned silence.
Ethan was our only child.
He was thirty-two, married, and apparently convinced that being our son entitled him to everything Linda and I had spent a lifetime building.
His wife, Ashley, had never been particularly subtle about her expectations.
Whenever they visited, she behaved more like a future homeowner inspecting her property than a guest spending time with family.
She would walk through our living room and criticize the furniture.
She'd point at the kitchen cabinets and explain how she wanted to replace them.
Once, during Sunday dinner, she casually announced that our master bedroom would make a wonderful private suite for her and Ethan.
Linda had smiled politely that afternoon.
I had let the comment pass.
Looking back, perhaps that was my mistake.
Because somewhere along the way, Ethan and Ashley had stopped thinking about their inheritance as something that might come to them one day.
They had begun treating it as something they could claim whenever they pleased.
