Kathryn had a spare key before I’d even finished unpacking. Austin gave it to her because family should be able to help in an emergency, and somehow I was the unreasonable one for pointing out that most emergencies don’t require his mother letting herself in on a Wednesday afternoon to inspect the coat closet.
Then I noticed my underwear drawer.
Small Things, Moved
At first, her habits were annoying more than alarming. She refolded towels. Moved my mail. Smoothed wrinkles out of a guest room bedspread nobody had touched in weeks. She acted like every surface in my house was waiting for her approval before it could exist properly.
I told myself it was better to just ignore her.
Then I noticed my underwear drawer.
The first time, I just stood there staring. A few things folded differently. One bra flipped upside down. A pair of black underwear I knew I’d shoved toward the back was lying right on top instead. I shut the drawer and told myself I was imagining it.
The second time happened after Kathryn came over for lunch and wandered upstairs without explanation. That night I found one of my sleep bras tucked into my sock drawer. I stood there holding it, feeling almost ridiculous for how upset I was over something so small.Find Hospitals
Nothing had been stolen. Nothing was broken. But someone had touched something private and expected me to accept it simply because the evidence looked too small to make a fuss over.
