Debbie spun around, fake smile plastered on.
“Relax, Lil. I’m just saying this is way too much space for one person. You’ll get lonely rattling around in here. It only makes sense to share it with family.”
There it was. The same script she’d used at that dinner table years ago—just recycled to fit my new address.
I walked past her and opened the front door wide.
“Visit’s over.”
“Oh.” She gave me that look—the one that used to make me shrink when we were kids. The mix of condescension and challenge.
But I wasn’t a kid anymore, and this wasn’t her turf.
After a beat, she scooped up her purse and breathed out, tossing a sing-song “See you soon,” over her shoulder.
When the door shut, I leaned against it, keys clutched in my hand. For a second, I wondered if I’d overreacted.
Then I saw the way she’d lingered near the counter, eyeing my keys when she thought I wasn’t looking.
And just like that, doubt vanished.
Discipline reminded me: what you don’t secure, you lose.
I tightened my grip on the keys and walked to the kitchen, replaying every second of her visit—Debbie’s smile, her hands on the cabinets, the way she’d tested my patience like she was testing a lock.
She wasn’t done.
She was just getting started.
The next time Debbie showed up, she didn’t bother knocking like a guest. She waltzed in right after I opened the door, carrying a grocery bag in one hand like she had been invited.
“Thought I’d bring snacks,” she said, breezing past me into the kitchen.
I didn’t remember asking for company, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for her store-bought cookies.
She set them on the counter and gave me that bright, fake smile.
“See? I can be helpful, too.”
I leaned on the counter with my arms crossed. “Helpful would’ve been calling first.”
That, she ignored.
She started pulling out a package of cookies and a six-pack of soda.
“Mason and Kloe have been driving me crazy. This house feels like a vacation compared to our place. It’s so quiet.”
She said it with a sigh, like she was already making herself comfortable.
I wasn’t interested in entertaining her, but kicking her out would have meant a fight I didn’t have the energy for. I told myself I’d give her ten minutes and then send her on her way.
She kept walking around, eyes flicking over the furniture I’d barely managed to buy, touching the new curtains, inspecting the framed photo of me in uniform that sat on a shelf.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Liil,” she said, voice dripping with the kind of praise that feels more like a setup. “Really well.”
I didn’t trust the compliment. Debbie only handed those out when she was about to cash in.
At one point, I stepped away to the bathroom. I wasn’t gone long—maybe a couple of minutes.
But when I came back, Debbie was standing by the counter where my keys sat.
She picked them up casually, twirling them around her finger like she was just making conversation.
“You’ve got a lot of locks,” she said. “What’s this one for?”
“The garage.”
