I had barely moved into the cottage when my daughter-in-law called: “we’ll be there soon with 20 family members, make sure everything’s ready for our 2-week stay.” i smiled to myself… and thought of a plan.
I hadn’t even unpacked the good linens when the phone rang. It was my daughter-in-law, Kinley.
“Hey, Calvana, just a heads-up. We’ll be there in about two hours. There’s twenty of us from my side. If you could get the rooms ready for our two-week stay, that would be great. Oh, and food, obviously.”
No “Is this a good time?” No congratulations on the new cottage I had spent a decade saving for. It sounded more like a delivery notification than a conversation. I took a silent beat, then said, “Alright.”
When the call ended, I didn’t panic. I simply walked to the kitchen, pulled out a yellow legal pad, and drew a line down the middle. On one side, I wrote: Food. Towels. Trash Bags. On the other, I wrote: Legal. Enforcement. Documents. Copies. I underlined Copies twice.
They arrived like an invading army. No one asked; Kinley’s eldest aunt claimed the primary bedroom without a word. Kinley gave me a sympathetic smile. “It’s just for two weeks,” she said, her hand a condescending weight on my shoulder. “Be flexible.”
I nodded. Flexible. I’d been flexible for six years in their basement, doing their laundry and packing lunches for which I was never thanked.
On the fifth morning, I taped two notices to the front door: PRIVATE PROPERTY and SHORT-TERM LODGING AGREEMENT REQUIRED. Then, I set out twenty-two neatly printed copies of a contract on the dining table.
When Kinley came downstairs, her smile vanished as she skimmed the page. “What is this?”
“A lodging agreement,” I said calmly.
She let out a short, clipped laugh. “Okay, very funny. You’re serious?”
I didn’t answer. I just walked to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped aside as a county sheriff’s vehicle pulled into my driveway…
Full in the first c0mment 👇
