THE MORNING I WAS EVICTED FROM MY OWN ROOM

“It’ll be temporary,” Natalia insisted, as if the word was a magic spell that erased discomfort and boundaries.

What bothered me wasn’t just the number of people. It was the tone. She wasn’t asking as an adult speaking to another adult. She was presenting it as a plan I was expected to approve—because I was the “understanding dad.”

So I agreed.

Because she was my daughter.

Because my grandchildren were here.