Out with the old, in with the new.
I should have known she meant me.
But I didn’t know yet what she was really planning.
That discovery was still months away.
They moved in six months later, June 2019.
Benjamin called on a Tuesday.
“Mom, can we come over and talk?”
They showed up that evening. Leah had brought folders—actual folders—with charts and documents and a presentation like she was pitching a business deal.
For my house.
My own house.
“Grace, we’ve been thinking,” she said, sitting on my couch like she already owned it. “You’ve been alone in this big house for four years now. That’s a long time, and we worry about you.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“We know you say that,” Benjamin said.
He looked tired. He always looked tired now.
“But, Mom, what if something happens? What if you fall? What if you need help?”
“I’ll call 911 like everyone else.”
Leah leaned forward, concern practiced.
“Grace, we want to be here for you,” she said. “Benjamin and I have been talking, and we think it would be best for everyone if we moved in. That way you’re not alone. We can help with the house, with everything.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“You want to move into my house.”
“We want to take care of you,” Leah corrected. “And honestly, it would help us, too. Rent in the city is astronomical, and we’re trying to save for our future. For a family. For Benjamin’s future. It would be temporary—just until we get on our feet.”
I looked at Benjamin.
“This is what you want?”
He nodded.
“I think it makes sense, Mom. For everyone.”
Every instinct I had was screaming no.
But what was I supposed to say? That I didn’t trust his wife? That something about her made my skin crawl?
He was my son.
“All right,” I said. “Temporarily.”
Leah’s smile was instant—bright, victorious.
