Isabel, seemingly oblivious to my displeasure, spoke in an arrogant tone,
“Your house is too small. Give us the master bedroom and you and Caleb can sleep in the guest room.”
“I disagree!”
“I’ve said I won’t interfere in your affairs anymore. Besides, my mother-in-law is undergoing chemotherapy and needs a quiet environment to recuperate. I will never allow you to stay in my house."
Isabel didn't expect me, the soft-hearted apple, to reject her so resolutely and she immediately flew into a rage.
"Isla! You ungrateful wretch! We're your own parents, your mother-in-law is an outsider — how can she compare to us?"
"Don't you care whether we live or die? Have you lost your conscience?"
At this moment, the silently listening father, Hans Anderson, finally spoke, his brow furrowed and his voice weak, "Isla, my legs have been hurting terribly lately. You used to massage them for me, which always made me feel better. Staying at your house will make it easier for you to massage them for me."
Always the same old routine, the same old trick. Every time they tried to manipulate me, they played the victim to gain sympathy.