“Call your mother and tell her to turn around,” I ordered.
A long, heavy pause hung on the line. “Mark… is she already on her way?”
He hung up on me.
At 5:11, a silver SUV aggressively pulled into my driveway. Diane stepped out first. Then Lisa. Without even glancing toward the house, they popped the trunk and began unloading an absolute mountain of belongings. Three massive suitcases. Plastic storage bins. A bulging garment bag. Bags of prescription bottles. They even brought a potted peace lily.
This wasn’t a weekend visit. This was a hostile takeover.
The doorbell chimed. I pulled the heavy oak door open and planted myself squarely in the threshold.
Diane offered a sickeningly sweet smile. “Which room did Mark clear out for me?”
“He didn’t.”
Her fake smile vanished instantly.
Lisa let out an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. “Oh, Claire, please don’t start this.”
I looked past them at the sheer volume of luggage stacked on my front porch. “You two are standing here with enough cargo to move in.”
Diane scowled. “Mark explicitly said I could stay here.”
“You are welcome inside for a cup of coffee as a guest,” I replied, crossing my arms. “But you are absolutely not moving in today.”
My arrogant mother-in-law actually dialed 911 and demanded the police force me out of my own doorway so she could move her luggage into “her son’s”house.
