Harold was.s. standing in the hallway holding Grace’s bedroom door.
Not the handle.
The entire door.
He had removed it while she slept.
Grace stared at him in disbelief.
“Better, right?” Harold asked.
“What did you do?”
“A family shouldn’t need so many barriers.”
“Put that back!”
“Why?”
“Because that is my room!”
“Our guest room,” he corrected.
“I deserve privacy!”
Harold tilted his head.
That was when I understood. He wasn’t angry. He was calmly using her own logic against her.
“You removed our bedroom door without asking,” he said. “You went through my desk, handled Emma’s medication, and walk into our room without knocking. We’ve asked you to stop.”
“I was trying to help.”
“It’s a bedroom, Mom. Privacy is the point.”
Grace looked at me.
“This is because of her.”
Harold’s jaw tightened.
“You used to tell me everything,” Grace said. “You called me every day.”
