“My son lives here.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Then move out of the way, sweetheart. These bags are incredibly heavy.”
I didn’t move a single inch. “The luggage stays on the porch until Mark and I have an actual conversation.”
Lisa let out a mocking laugh. “She’s seventy-four years old, Claire!”
“Yes, Lisa. Mark mentioned that. It continues to be true.”
Diane’s expression hardened into pure venom. “My son does not need your permission to let his own mother into his house.”
To punctuate the threat, Lisa whipped out her phone and started recording me like I was a criminal.
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.
