The day I was appointed director, my husband gave me a cruel smile: “I don’t care about your career! My mother and sister are moving out tomorrow, and you’re going to be serving them.” I didn’t reply, I just smiled. But when he returned with them, he opened the front door and was shocked. “What the hell did you do?” he yelled at me. Without flinching, I answered: “Nothing… except put everyone back in their rightful place.” That night, his world crumbled.

I heard Wesley fumble with his key, trying desperately to turn a lock that no longer accepted his presence, before he began pounding on the door in frustration. When I finally swung the door open, he stood there staring at an empty hallway and his own suitcases neatly lined up against the wall while a locksmith packed up his gear.

Wesley’s face drained of all color as he stammered, “Andrea, what in the world have you done to our home?” I stood firmly in the doorway without raising my voice, resting my hand on the blue folder while his mother transitioned from an air of arrogance to pure bewilderment.

Gwen stood there with two massive suitcases and a garment bag, letting out a nervous, high-pitched giggle as if she expected me to tell them it was all a joke. Wesley tried to barge past me into the apartment, but the locksmith blocked his path with a professional stare and told him that access was only granted to the legal contract holder.