“You tried moving into my house after I said no. I’m not doing this to you. I’m stopping you from doing it to me.”
Mom started crying.
For once, I didn’t open the door.
They left twenty minutes later, dragging their suitcases back toward the car with the stiff movements of people who expected obedience and found a locked gate instead.
By noon, Caleb called.
He informed me Mom was hysterical, Dad was furious, and I had embarrassed everyone.
“Good,” I said. “Now everyone understands that my home isn’t available for family redistribution.”
Over the next few weeks, relatives called after hearing my parents’ version of events.
Most stopped calling after I sent them one screenshot of Mom’s dinner announcement and a copy of the attorney’s notice.
My parents stayed in their rental because breaking the lease cost more than their pride could afford.
