My mother-in-law pointed at the door during New Year’s dinner and snapped, **“If you don’t like my rules, get out!”** – Welcome

a hand dramatically over his chest.

“After thirty years running a manufacturing company, I’m wounded.”

Caroline smiled.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

At the door, she looked back at me.

“Evelyn?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll bring breakfast next Sunday.”

“What time?”

She paused, then grinned.

“Not six.”

The door closed behind her.

Richard walked into the kitchen and continue reading …