“So she is an adult homeowner,” said the officer. “And if she didn’t give you permission to enter, that is important.”
My mother’s face turned pale.
Owen stood up and tried to look nonchalant.
“Look, I didn’t break anything. They said it wouldn’t be a problem for you.”
I turned to him.
“You saw my stuff being moved out of the guest room. You saw my desk being pushed into the hallway. You saw Mom hanging your clothes in my closet. When did you think I consented to that?”
Owen shrugged.
“We tend to overreact first and only calm down later.”
That sentence had a greater impact than any insult, because it reflected the recurring pattern.
They would have gone too far, called my reaction exaggerated, and then waited for me to fall silent from exhaustion.
Not this time.
I walked to the counter, took my folder of house documents out of the drawer, and handed the real estate agent mi
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