“Humiliate you?”
“Yes!”
Harold glanced at me.
Then back at her.
“Interesting.”
Grace crossed her arms.
“Put the door back. Now.”
“No.”
Her eyes widened.
Harold almost never said no to his mother so directly.
Usually there was always a softer version.
Maybe later.
Let’s not argue.
She didn’t mean it like that.
That’s just Mom.
I had heard
every variation.
Not tonight.
“You removed our bedroom door without asking,” Harold said. “You went through my desk. You handled Emma’s medication. You walk into our room without knocking. We’ve asked you repeatedly to stop.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You removed a door.”
“You two were being secretive.”
“We were sleeping.”
“You were shutting me out.”
Harold gave a dry laugh.
“It’s a bedroom, Mom. Privacy is literally the point.”
Grace looked at me.
And there it was.
The shift.
The moment the blame needed somewhere else to land.
“This is because of her.”
