Her eyes locked onto the four suitcases in the living room.
Her face cycled through confusion, recognition, panic, anger — all in seconds.
She ran upstairs.
I heard drawers slam and closet doors fly open.
Then she came barreling down the stairs, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“WHERE are my things?!”
“Locked up,” I said pleasantly, gesturing at the suitcases like I was presenting prizes.
She sputtered something about theft.
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t have to.
“Forcing a 15-year-old with a fractured shoulder to babysit toddlers while you go out isn’t ‘self-care,’ Lydia,” I said. “It’s reckless.”
“And if you want to start comparing who broke what boundary, we can bring in outside opinions.”
Her mouth opened and closed like she couldn’t decide which lie to use first.
Finally she whispered, “What do I have to do?”
I set the terms clearly.
“You take care of the twins. You take care of this house. And you leave Olivia alone to heal. Four days. Same length as Scott’s trip.”
Lydia looked like she wanted to argue.
But she understood something important:
This wasn’t a debate. It was corrective action.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
