My Son Demanded Rent at Christmas Dinner

at the shiny new deadbolt like it had personally offended her.

“That was unwise,” she said.

Jim snorted.

Ruth called a locksmith.

Daniel arrived twenty minutes later, red-faced and furious.

“You can’t break into our house.”

Ruth turned.

“Mr. Harlan, this is not your house.”

Melissa got out of the SUV behind him, arms folded. She looked thinner. Or maybe just continue reading …