“No,” I said. “Not one box comes into my house.”
Martha screamed. Arthur lunged forward again. I slammed the door, locked the deadbolt, and secured the chain. He hit the door with his shoulder, then kicked it repeatedly, yelling my name. My hands shook, but not from weakness. I had finally said no. I knew that if I let them inside even for a few nights, they could try to claim residency, and my sanctuary would become a legal nightmare.
I opened the security cameras. Arthur paced outside like a furious animal while Martha sobbed on my porch chair. Then my phone began buzzing with messages from relatives. Aunt Diane had already seen my mother’s Facebook post: a tearful selfie from the Buick, claiming her own son had locked his elderly parents outside after they sacrificed everything for family. No mention of Chloe. No mention that they had arrived uninvited. No mention that they had sold their house without asking me.
