My daughter-in-law pointed at me from inside my own doorway and shouted, “Get out of my house right now!” She said it standing in a home that had never once belonged to her.

A deputy delivered it that afternoon while I watched from Carol’s window.

Matthew looked across the street and saw me.

I did not wave.

The countdown began.

PART 2 — THE STORY THEY TRIED TO BUILD
That night, Matthew called seventeen times.

I answered once.

“Mom, this is too much.”

“No,” I said. “What you did in my house was too much.”

Jessica shouted in the background that I was making them homeless.

“You made yourselves unwelcome,” I replied.

The following afternoon, a moving truck arrived.

Two workers began carrying my dining chairs outside.

Those chairs had belonged to George and me for thirty-five years. He had repaired them himself and carved a tiny letter G beneath one seat.

I crossed the street in my slippers.

“Put those down.”

Jessica appeared on the porch.

“Ignore her,” she told the movers. “She’s confused.”