At Eleven, She Moved In. At Six, I Changed The Locks.

handed me the pages while I was still standing in the foyer. Three stapled sheets. Bold headings. Morning Routine. Approved Foods. Laundry Preferences. House Expectations.

At the bottom she’d typed: A smooth living environment depends on consistency.

I almost laughed in her face.

Almost.

But there was Richard, sweating through his button-down like he’d continue reading …