Chapter 1 - The Rules Waiting in My Own House
After nine months overseas, I came home dreaming about ordinary things.
Clean sheets.
My own shower.
Coffee from the chipped blue mug Ethan had bought me on our third anniversary.
And my husband opening the door before I could get my key into the lock.
Instead, at 4:17 on a Thursday afternoon, I unlocked the front door of my own house and found a pink laminated sign hanging beside the coat closet.
HOUSEHOLD EXPECTATIONS.
For several seconds, I simply stood there.
My deployment bag hung from my shoulder. My olive-green duffel rested against my leg. Every muscle in my body hurt from airports, military transport, and too many hours spent sitting upright.
I wondered if exhaustion was playing tricks on me.
Then I noticed the scratch across the hardwood floor.
I had made it four years earlier when Ethan and I tried to move a bookcase without lifting it properly.
This was definitely my house.
It just didn't look like it anymore.
Two cardboard boxes were stacked in the foyer.
My white entry bench was covered with flowered cushions I had never seen before. The framed photograph of the Texas Hill Country that used to hang above it was gone.
In its place was a wooden rooster wearing a gingham bow.
I stared at it.
Of all the things that happened during my deployment, somehow that rooster almost broke me.
“Ethan?”
Nothing.
Then I heard a television.
It was coming from upstairs.
From my bedroom.
My hand tightened around the strap of my backpack.
“Ethan?”
Footsteps came from the hallway.
But the person who appeared wasn't my husband.
It was Diane Walker.
My mother-in-law.
She was sixty-two, perfectly made up, and wearing a dark navy silk robe.
My robe.
The one Ethan had given me on our fifth anniversary.
Diane stopped when she saw me.
There was no excitement on her face.
No surprise that became happiness.
No rush forward to welcome me home.
She adjusted her glasses.
“You're early.”
I stared at her.
“I'm sorry?”
“Ethan said Saturday.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“I know what day it is, Laura.”
That was Diane.
She could make an ordinary sentence sound like a disciplinary hearing.
I dropped my duffel beside the door.
“Why are you wearing my robe?”
She looked down as though she'd forgotten.
“It’s comfortable.”
Before I could respond, another figure appeared.
Megan.
Ethan's younger sister.
She was wearing pink lounge pants and a pale cardigan, and in her hands was my favorite blue pottery mug.
She took a sip from it.
“Mom,” she said, barely looking at me, “are we still doing chicken tonight?”
Then she noticed my expression.
Her mug stopped halfway to her mouth.
“Oh.”
That was my welcome home.
Oh.
I looked from Megan to Diane.
“Why are you both living here?”
Megan immediately stared into her coffee.
Diane sighed.
Not nervously.
Impatiently.
As though I had interrupted something.
“Perhaps you should put your bags away first.”
“Where?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where should I put my bags, Diane?”
She hesitated.
And that hesitation told me everything.
I walked toward the stairs.
Diane stepped in front of me.
“Laura.”
I stopped.
She disappeared into the living room and returned carrying a clipboard.
A laminated sheet was clipped to it.
She pressed it toward me.
“You've been gone for nine months,” she said. “Naturally, the household has developed a routine.”
I didn't take the clipboard.
She pushed it closer.
“It would be easier for everyone if you respected it.”
Finally, I took it.
Across the top, written in red capital letters, were four words.
GUIDELINES FOR LAURA.
I looked at Diane.
She didn't smile.
Apparently, she was serious.
I read.
1. Dinner is served promptly at 5:30 p.m. Anyone arriving late prepares their own meal and cleans the kitchen afterward.
Interesting.
2. Morning laundry begins at 6:30 a.m. Laura will be responsible for uniforms, towels, and shared linens.
I almost laughed.
Then I reached number three.
3. The primary bedroom is assigned to Diane due to mobility concerns. Laura will use the downstairs office until further notice.
My eyes moved upstairs.
“My bedroom?”
Diane folded her arms.
“My knees make the downstairs bathroom inconvenient.”
“There’s a guest bedroom downstairs.”
“I need more space.”
I looked back at the page.
Rule four.
4. All adults contribute $900 monthly toward household expenses. Laura's contribution begins immediately upon return.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“You're charging me rent?”
Diane's lips tightened.
“It isn't rent.”
“What is it?”
“A household contribution.”
“In my house.”
Megan shifted uncomfortably.
“Laura, Mom doesn't mean—”
I raised one hand.
She stopped.
I kept reading.
There were rules about bathroom schedules.
Kitchen cleaning.
Television hours.
Groceries.
Visitors.
Noise after ten.
One line even said:
Work-related excuses do not exempt household members from assigned responsibilities.
Work-related excuses.
I had spent nine months thousands of miles away from home.
And someone had laminated a sentence informing me that my work was not an excuse for missing laundry.
I should have exploded.
Maybe the Laura who had left nine months earlier would have.
But deployment had taught me something useful.
When everything inside you wants to react, sometimes the smartest thing you can do is become very still.
So I became still.
Then the garage door opened.
Footsteps entered the kitchen.
“Mom, they didn't have the brand you—”
Ethan walked into the foyer carrying two grocery bags.
He saw me.
Stopped.
A carton of eggs tilted dangerously inside one bag.
For one foolish second, I waited for his face to light up.
I had imagined this moment hundreds of times.
Ethan dropping whatever he was holding.
Ethan running toward me.
Ethan wrapping both arms around me and saying my name against my hair.
Instead, fear crossed his face.
Not surprise.
Fear.
And that hurt more than Diane wearing my robe.
“Laura.”
I held up the laminated sheet.
“What is this?”
His eyes moved to his mother.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
Diane saw me see it.
“Laura,” Ethan said carefully, “you weren't supposed to be home until Saturday.”
“Apparently that's becoming a popular observation.”
He put the groceries down.
“I can explain.”
“Please do.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“My mom had some problems with her apartment.”
“What problems?”
“The rent increased.”
“So she moved here?”
“Temporarily.”
“For how long?”
Silence.
I looked at Megan.
“And her?”
“She lost her roommate.”
Megan frowned.
“My roommate moved in with her boyfriend.”
“I'm devastated for you.”
“Laura,” Ethan warned.
That word.
That tone.
Something inside me shifted.
I had been gone nine months, and my husband was warning me about my attitude toward two people who had apparently taken over our home.
I looked around.
“Where is my Hill Country photograph?”
Diane answered.
“Storage.”
“My books?”
“Some are boxed.”
“My clothes?”
Another silence.
I headed upstairs.
Diane stepped toward me.
“Laura, we've already discussed the bedroom arrangement.”
“No, Diane. You discussed it with people who aren't me.”
I climbed the stairs.
Behind me, Ethan said my name again.
I didn't stop.
The bedroom door was open.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
My room had been transformed.
My gray comforter was gone.
My photographs had disappeared.
Diane's perfume bottles covered my dresser.
Her clothes filled the chair beside the window.
A television had been mounted on the wall.
My nightstand held her medication, reading glasses, and a half-empty glass of water.
Then I opened my closet.
Half my clothes were gone.
“What did you do with my things?”
Ethan had followed me.
“They're safe.”
“Where?”
“The garage.”
I stared at him.
“My clothes are in the garage?”
“Just some boxes.”
I walked past him.
Downstairs.
Into the garage.
Six plastic storage bins sat against the wall.
My name was written across them in black marker.
LAURA.
One contained photographs.
Another contained books.
Another contained shoes.
The fourth had military memorabilia my father had given me.
The fifth held winter clothes.
The sixth contained personal documents.
My life had been packed away like I had died.
Then I noticed something else.
My car wasn't there.
I turned around.
“Where's my SUV?”
Ethan's face changed.
Megan appeared behind him.
She whispered, “Oh God.”
“Where is my car?”
Ethan swallowed.
“Mom's been using it.”
Diane appeared at the doorway.
“You weren't here.”
I looked at her.
Then at Ethan.
“You gave her my car?”
“It was sitting unused.”
“That's not an answer.”
“We kept the insurance current.”
“We?”
Ethan's shoulders dropped.
“Laura, can we please just talk?”
I walked back into the house.
My anger had disappeared.
That frightened Ethan more than shouting would have.
I returned to the foyer, picked up the laminated rules, and studied them one more time.
Diane followed.
“If we're all going to live together,” she said, “there have to be boundaries.”
That was when I smiled.
A small smile.
Nothing dramatic.
But Ethan knew me well enough to recognize it.
His face went pale.
“What?” Diane asked.
“Nothing.”
I set my deployment bag beside the wall.
Ethan stepped closer.
“Laura.”
I checked my watch.
4:51 p.m.
Then I looked at him.
“Did you agree to this?”
He didn't answer.
That was an answer.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Diane seemed pleased.
“Good. I'm glad we're being reasonable.”
I almost admired her confidence.
Almost.
“What happens at five?” Ethan asked.
“Not five tonight.”
I walked into the downstairs office.
A folding bed had already been prepared for me.
My mother-in-law had literally made me a cot in my own house.
I turned around.
“Five tomorrow morning.”
Diane frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
I smiled again.
“You'll find out.”
Then I closed the door.
At 4:58 the next morning, headlights swept across the front windows.
At exactly 5:00, three vehicles pulled into my driveway.
May you like
And Diane Walker, still wearing my robe, had no idea that the first person stepping out was carrying paperwork with her name on it.
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