I was in the kitchen cutting vegetables for a pot of soup when the scream from upstairs pierced the hallway so sharply that it felt like the door had been thrown open. A moment later my daughter in law Brittany Collins shouted again with anger trembling in every word.
“HONEY! YOUR MOTHER CHANGED THE PASSWORD! I CAN’T USE HER CARD ANYMORE!”
Her voice sounded like someone who had been betrayed, even though the card in question had never belonged to her in the first place. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and inhaled slowly, deciding not to rush toward the argument because I already knew what had caused it.
Two minutes later someone pounded on the kitchen door with a force that made the wood shake. It was not polite knocking. It was fury.
“Mom!” my son Tyler Lawson shouted before I even reached the handle.
When I opened the door I saw his face flushed with anger while Brittany stood just behind him holding her phone like evidence she was ready to present to a judge. I asked quietly what had happened even though the answer was obvious from the tension in the air.