living room window. His old toolbox sat neatly in the garage. The marks on the hallway doorframe, where we had measured David’s height as he grew, were still visible.
This wasn’t simply a building to me.
It was my home, my history, and the life my husband and I had worked so hard to create.
And now my daughter-in-law wanted me gone.
I took a slow breath, walked into the living room, and looked directly at her.
“Honey,” I said calmly, “this is my house.”
Harper’s expression changed immediately.
For
