The “Temporary” Move-In That Turned Into a War
I’d been living with my son Andrew and his wife, Kate, for two weeks.
Two long, uncomfortable weeks.
It wasn’t an arrangement either of them wanted.
Kate had resisted the idea for years, and only agreed after my “leg injury.”
Accidental… and, if we’re being honest, slightly exaggerated.
In my defense, getting older means you learn one thing fast:
If you don’t advocate for yourself, nobody does.
Still, Kate wasn’t fooled for long.
One morning I stepped onto the porch and saw her raking leaves like she was punishing the ground for existing.
“Kate, you’re doing it all wrong!” I called.
