And several knives.

Two days later, I found my expensive nonstick skillet covered in deep scratches.

“Virginia, did you clean this earlier?”

“Yes. It was filthy.”

“You used the metal scrubber?”

“Obviously.”

I took a breath.

“You really can’t use that on nonstick cookware. It damages the coating.”

She laughed.

“My goodness, Chloe. Apparently washing a pan requires advanced training in this house.”

I set the ruined skillet aside without responding.

Then came dinner.

Every evening became a performance.

I cooked grilled chicken, vegetables, fish, potatoes, pasta salads.

Virginia always found something wrong.

One night, she looked at Justin’s plate and sighed.

“My poor son. You look so thin.”

Justin glanced down at himself.

“Mom, I’ve actually gained weight.”

“That’s probably bloating from all these vegetables.”

I slowly placed my fork on the table.

“Virginia, if you prefer something else, you’re welcome to cook anything you like.”

Her expression changed instantly.

“We’re guests. I’m certainly not going to invade your kitchen.”

“Cooking isn’t invading my kitchen.”

She stared at me.

“But criticizing every meal I make is starting to feel like invading my home.”

Later that night, Justin followed me into the bedroom.

“Can you please try to ignore some of it?”

I turned toward him.

“Why?”

“She’s my mother. She’s always been like this.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“I just want everyone to get along.”

“So do I.”

I folded my arms.

“That’s why I’m setting boundaries now instead of exploding later.”

Justin sighed.

For two days, Virginia stopped criticizing my cooking.