For six months, Diane had been treating my little lake house in northern Michigan like her personal retreat.
It started innocently enough.
After my husband passed away, I couldn’t bear going there alone, so the house sat empty most of the year. Diane and her husband, Mark, lived about two hours away and had always talked about how much they loved the lake.
The first time she asked to stay for a weekend, I said yes.
Then she asked about another weekend.
Then a week.
I didn’t mind at first. The house was sitting empty, and Diane always promised she’d leave it exactly as she found it.