“Say that again.”
Jessica rested one hand on the railing.
“Our bedroom.”
Matthew remained below us.
His face had turned pale.
My fingers curled around the polished banister.
George had sanded that wood himself.
He spent three weekends complaining about splinters.
Then he polished every inch until the oak gleamed.
A scratch still marked the fourth post.
Matthew made it with a toy truck when he was five.
I once asked George whether we should repair it.
He refused.
He called it evidence that a little boy had once raced through our home.
Now that little boy stood beneath the scratch.
He was watching another person claim the rooms where he had grown up.
I continued upstairs.
Jessica followed.
At the landing, I stopped.
A framed photograph leaned against the wall.
George and I stood beside Lake Erie in the picture.
It was taken during our twentieth anniversary trip.
A crack crossed the glass.
It ran directly through George’s smile.
“What happened?”
Jessica shrugged.
“It fell.”
“From where?”
“The bedroom.”
“You dropped it?”
“I told you it fell.”
“Pictures don’t throw themselves from walls.”
“The room was crowded.”
“My room was never crowded.”
“It is now.”
I picked up the frame carefully.
A tiny piece of glass loosened near the corner.
I pressed it gently back into place.
Then I carried the photograph down the hall.
The bedroom door stood open.
I pushed it wider.
For several seconds, I could not move.
The furniture remained.
Almost everything else had changed.
Bright dresses filled my closet.
Jessica’s purses covered the shelf George once used.
Cosmetics crowded my dresser.
A curling iron rested beside George’s military photograph.
My blue patchwork quilt was gone.
White sheets covered the bed.
A dark green comforter lay across them.
A wineglass stood on my nightstand.
Jessica entered behind me.
She walked around me and sat on the bed.
Then she reached for red nail polish.
“You mind?”
“Yes.”
She twisted open the bottle anyway.
“This is our room now.”
She began painting one thumbnail.
That casual gesture humiliated me more than shouting would have.
Matthew appeared in the doorway.
He leaned against the frame.
“We needed more space.”
“You have an apartment.”
“It’s too small.”
“It was large enough when I helped with the deposit.”
“We’re trying to save money.”
“For what?”
“A better future.”
I gestured around the bedroom.
“You decided to build one from my possessions?”
Jessica blew lightly across her thumbnail.
“We were tired of wasting money on rent.”
“So you took my home.”
“You live alone.”
The room went very quiet.
Matthew closed his eyes.
Jessica continued.
“This place has three bedrooms and a finished basement.”
“It also has an owner.”
“It has more space than you need.”
“That is not your decision.”
“You’re seventy-two.”
The words landed with ugly precision.
Matthew straightened.
“Jessica, enough.”
“No.”
She stood.
“We’ve been avoiding reality for months.”
“What reality?”
Jessica pointed around the room.
“You cannot manage this house forever.”
“I have managed it since George died.”
“You hire people.”
“With money I earned.”
“That’s not the point.”
“The point keeps moving whenever I answer you.”
Her jaw tightened.
She looked at Matthew.
“Tell her.”
He remained silent.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
Matthew rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“We thought you could stay with Aunt Helen.”
My attention sharpened.
“My sister just had heart surgery.”
“She has a guest room.”
“She lives three hours away.”
“You stayed there two weeks.”
“I spent four nights sleeping in a hospital chair.”
Jessica shrugged.
“You managed.”
I felt something inside me become very still.
She was not arguing anymore.
She was testing how much humiliation I would tolerate.
I refused to satisfy her.
“You have forty-eight hours,” I said.
Jessica blinked.
“For what?”
“To remove yourselves and everything you brought.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You can’t evict your own son.”
“I can remove people who entered without authorization.”
“We had authorization.”
“Show me.”
She glanced at Matthew.
He studied the carpet.
“There is no document,” I said.
“You gave him a key.”
“A key is not a deed.”
“Matthew said this house will eventually be his.”
“Eventually is not today.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“I am protecting my property.”
“From your own family?”
“From anyone who takes without asking.”
Matthew spoke quietly.
“Mom, maybe we can figure this out.”
“We are figuring it out.”
Jessica snapped the polish bottle shut.
“You’re impossible.”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Absolutely not.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“I’m checking the rest of the house.”
“No.”
I turned.
Jessica had followed me to the doorway.
Her expression changed.
The anger was still there.