She walked to the table, picked up the boss babe frame, and dropped it into the trash.
“Do not use that baby as a shield,” she said when Amber tried to protest. “We raised our family with honesty. We did not lie, and we did not turn family into servants. Get out.”
My father stepped beside her. “Call your own parents. You’re not staying here.”
Amber looked around, saw her guests slipping away, grabbed her purse, and stormed out.
The next few hours were cleanup. Kyle packed every box and every decoration into the garage. I had the locks changed. I put the sewing machine back upright. By evening, the house felt like home again.
Three months later, it still does. The green walls are back. The garden is blooming. Amber ended up back at her parents’ house. Kyle filed for divorce after discovering more lies and financial secrets. He’s in therapy now, slowly rebuilding trust with us.
Yesterday I visited my parents. Mom was in her sewing room making a quilt. Dad was asleep in his recliner with a mystery novel on his chest. They weren’t guests. They weren’t servants.
They were finally home.