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Did you even ask the owner of this house for permission? The question left my mouth with a calm I hadn't expected. I had just opened the door to my condo, grocery bags still dangling from my arms, and there she was. Chloe, my daughter-in-law, standing right in the middle of my living room as if it were nothing. There were two enormous suitcases at her feet and an expression that mixed surprise with something worse. Annoyance. As if I were the intruder. as if my arrival had ruined her perfectly laid plans. She looked up at me, blinked twice, and then let out that uncomfortable little laugh she used whenever someone confronted her. It was a short, sharp laugh designed to make the other person feel ridiculous. But I didn't look away. I stood there on the threshold of my own home, holding the heavy bags filled with produce and canned goods, waiting for an answer she clearly hadn't prepared. Hey, Ava. I didn't hear you come in. Her voice sounded light, almost musical, as if we were having a casual conversation about the weather, as if the suitcases didn't exist, as if it were completely normal for her to be in my condo on a Thursday afternoon without warning me, without asking, without showing the slightest consideration for the fact that this was my space, my refuge, the only place in the world where I could still breathe without anyone demanding anything of me. I didn't move. I stayed right there in the doorway, feeling the weight of the bags beginning to leave red marks on my forearms.