“I am sleeping there!”
“And?”
“I deserve privacy!”
Harold tilted his head slightly.
That was when I understood what he was doing.
He wasn’t angry.
If he had been angry, Grace would have known exactly how to fight him.
Instead, he was calmly repeating her own logic back to her.
Grace pointed at him.
“This is completely different.”
“How?”
“I’m your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re my son.”
“Yes.”
She seemed to think those facts settled the argument.
Harold simply waited.
Grace’s face tightened.
“I cannot believe you would humiliate me this way.”
That word changed his expression.
“Humiliate you?”
“Yes!”
Harold glanced at me.
Then back at her.
“Interesting.”
Grace crossed her arms.
“Put the door back. Now.”
“No.”
Her eyes widened.
Harold almost never said no to his mother so directly.
Usually there was always a softer version.
Maybe later.
Let’s not argue.
She didn’t mean it like that.
That’s just Mom.
I had heard every variation.
Not tonight.
“You removed our bedroom door without asking,” Harold said. “You went through my desk. You handled Emma’s medication. You walk into our room without knocking. We’ve asked you repeatedly to stop.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You removed a door.”
“You two were being secretive.”
“We were sleeping.”
“You were shutting me out.”
Harold gave a dry laugh.
“It’s a bedroom, Mom. Privacy is literally the point.”
Grace looked at me.
