“Nora, be realistic; you were rattling around in here like ghosts while we are cramped in a tiny studio across town.”
My father finally spoke up, his voice low and dangerous as he dropped his paper plate onto the floor.
“Get out of my house, Kimberly. Right now.”
She looked at him with genuine shock, as if she couldn’t believe the “old man” was finally fighting back.
“You can’t be serious, Jeffrey, tell them we aren’t leaving in the middle of the night!”
“You’re leaving,” I interrupted, “because this document you’re holding is a ninety-day temporary stay permit, and this second page—the one you conveniently hid—explicitly forbids you from making any changes to the home or hosting guests.”
Jeffrey looked at the second page in my hand and then at his wife, his face turning a sickly shade of gray.
“You tore the page out, Kimberly? You told me Bridget had given us full control.”
“I did what was necessary for our future!” she screamed back, the mask of the perfect wife finally shattering. “Your sister plays the hero with her money while we struggle, and I wasn’t going to let this house go to waste on two people who are practically halfway to the grave.”