I’d driven over after my granddaughter, Lily, called and whispered, “Grandma, Dad is screaming again.”
When I arrived, the sky was dark, and rain poured relentlessly. Suddenly, the front door swung open. My daughter-in-law, Claire, stepped onto the porch barefoot, carrying a suitcase in one hand and holding six-year-old Noah with the other. Lily followed, immediately drenched, clutching her school backpack.
Claire spotted me and broke down.
“He threw us out,” she sobbed. “Daniel said Vanessa is moving in tonight.”
My son stood behind them.
Daniel wore the costly watch I’d given him after he became a partner. Beside him stood Vanessa, his twenty-nine-year-old mistress, wrapped in Claire’s cream-colored robe as though she owned the house.
Daniel’s expression hardened at my arrival.
“Mom, stay out of this.”
