Chapter 2: The New Locks
Harrison took one step toward me.
“Give me that.””
I tightened my fingers around the envelope.
“No.””
“Mom.””
“What is it?””
He looked toward the kitchen.
“Sloan is upset.””
“I know.””
“She needs time.””
“She has plenty of time. She’s had almost a year.””
His jaw clenched.
“Why are you acting like this?””
I almost laughed.
“Because I’m tired.””
“Tired of what?””
I pointed toward the house.
“Of coming downstairs and finding my kitchen reorganized.””
I pointed toward the hallway.
“Of discovering my photographs moved.””
I pointed upstairs.
“Of finding my towels gone because Sloan wanted different ones.””
Harrison rubbed his forehead.
“She’s trying to make the house feel comfortable.””
“It’s my house.””
“She lives here too.””
“For how long?””
He hesitated.
That hesitation said more than an answer could have.
When Harrison and Sloan first moved in, they had promised six weeks.
Their apartment had flooded.
“Just until the repairs are done,” Harrison told me.
I opened my home without asking questions.
Six weeks became three months.
Three months became eight.
Then nearly a year.
At first, Sloan was charming.
She brought flowers.
She called me “Mom.””
She kissed my cheek.
Then the little things started.
“Could we move this?””
“Could we repaint that?””
“Do you really need this?””
“Wouldn’t the house look better if we…”
One morning, I found my wedding china stacked in cardboard boxes.
Sloan had replaced it with plain white plates.
“What happened to my dishes?”” I asked.
“They were taking up too much space.””
I stared at her.
“You packed them?””
“They’re safer that way.””
She smiled.
“We’re doing some decluttering.””
I took the box from her.
“These belonged to my mother.””
Sloan sighed.
“I knew you’d be emotional.””
That sentence stayed with me.
Not because it was cruel.
Because she sounded tired.
As though my memories were an inconvenience.
Now I looked at Harrison.
“Do you remember what you promised me when you moved in?””
“We’d be out by spring.””
“It’s October.””
He looked away.
“I know.””
“Then start packing.””
His eyes narrowed.
“Are you kicking us out?””
“I’m asking you to leave.””
“Sloan and I can’t afford another place right now.””
“That is not my responsibility.””
He stared at me.
For the first time, he looked angry instead of ashamed.
“You’re really choosing this after one bad night?””
“One bad night?””
I stepped closer.
“No. One year.””
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
I handed him the envelope.
“Take it.””
He grabbed it.
I watched him slip it into his pocket.
“What was in there?””
“Nothing you need to worry about.””
“That sounds like something I need to worry about.””
He turned to go.
“Harrison.””
He stopped.
“Tomorrow, I’m changing the locks on my bedroom and office.””
He stared at me.
“You don’t trust us?””
I held his gaze.
“Not tonight.””
The next morning, I called a locksmith.
By ten-thirty, the deadbolts were installed.
One on my bedroom.
One on my office.
One on the small upstairs hallway bathroom Sloan had claimed as her own.
When Sloan discovered the changes, she stormed downstairs.
“What did you do?””
I was drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
“I changed my locks.””
“You changed my bathroom lock?””
“No.””
“You locked me out!””
“It’s not your bathroom.””
She laughed bitterly.
“We live here.””
“Temporarily.””
“After everything we’ve done for you?””
I nearly choked on my coffee.
“What exactly have you done for me?””
She stared.
“Excuse me?””
“Name one thing.””
Harrison entered the room.
“Mom, stop.””
I looked at him.
“No.””
He stepped between us.
“You’re making Sloan feel unwelcome.””
“I’m making it clear this is not her house.””
Sloan pointed toward me.
“You see? This is exactly what I was talking about.””
“Talking about what?””
“She resents us.””
I stood.
“I resent being treated like hired help.””
Sloan crossed her arms.
“I have never treated you like a maid.””
“Yesterday you left three bowls in the sink.””
“So?””
“You told me you’d clean them later.””
“And?””
“You never did.””
She stared at me as if I had lost my mind.
“You’re seriously complaining about dishes?””
“No.””
I opened the cabinet.
I took out a stack of containers.
Then I opened the refrigerator.
“I'm complaining about the fact that you bought groceries with my card, emptied half the refrigerator, and expected me to replace everything.””
Her face changed.
Harrison looked at her.
“You used Mom’s card?””
“For household expenses.””
“I never said you could.””
“She told me to use it.””
I turned.
“I did not.””
Sloan’s lips parted.
For the first time, she looked uncertain.
Harrison rubbed his chin.
“Maybe you forgot.””
“No.””
I had forgotten some things lately.
Appointments.
Names.
Where I left my glasses.
But I had not forgotten giving Sloan permission to use my debit card.
Because I never had.
That afternoon, I went upstairs.
I opened Sloan’s bathroom cabinet.
Perfume.
Serums.
Hair masks.
Expensive creams.
Half a dozen bottles I couldn’t pronounce.
I put every single item into a cardboard box.
At the door, I left a note.
*These are yours. Keep them in your room.*
When I came downstairs, Harrison was opening the refrigerator.
“There’s nothing here.””
I stared at him.
“You just got home.””
“We have no groceries.””
“You’re thirty-five.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means you can buy groceries.””
He gave me a stunned look.
“Mom.””
“What?””
“You used to take care of this.””
I smiled.
“That was when you were a child.””
He slammed the refrigerator shut.
“You’ve changed.””
“Yes.””
The word came out more easily than I expected.
That evening, Sloan called her mother and complained loudly from the upstairs landing.
“She’s treating us like criminals.””
I kept reading my book.
Then I heard her say something that made my eyes lift.
“I told you we might have to do it sooner.””
A pause.
Then:
“No. He hasn’t told her.””
I stopped turning the page.
My heart began to beat faster.
Who hadn’t told me what?
I quietly closed the book.
Sloan continued speaking.
“Once we have the paperwork, she can’t stop it.””
I stood.
The hallway was empty.
I looked toward the stairs.
“Paperwork?””
Sloan suddenly appeared at the top landing.
Our eyes met.
Her phone went silent.
“What paperwork?”” I asked.
She smiled.
“Nothing.””
She turned and walked away.
But before she disappeared into the bedroom, I heard her whisper:
“Not yet.””
That night, I slept with my office key under my pillow.
May you like
I didn't know why.
I only knew that, for the first time since Harrison moved back home, I was afraid of what I might find behind my own locked door.