By nine thirty, Harper was awake again.
I changed her, fed her, and carried her into the living room while the coffee maker sputtered on the kitchen counter.
My body still hurt.
Every time I stood up, I felt the strain of the previous week, and I had to move carefully when I bent over her bassinet.
But I was thinking clearly.
I had spent most of the night deciding what I would and wouldn't allow.
I wasn't going to argue about whether my mother loved me.
I wasn't going to defend my right to rest after childbirth.
And I wasn't going to let anyone turn my daughter's nursery into a place where I had to ask permission to put her crib.
At 9:47, I heard an engine outside.
I looked through the front window.
A moving truck was turning onto Oak Creek Road, pulling a long enclosed trailer behind it.
The trailer looked enormous beside my little brick house.
It crawled past the oak tree and swung into my driveway.
I watched the driver straighten the vehicle.
Then the engine went quiet.
My stomach tightened, but I didn't move away from the window.
A few moments later, my mother's car pulled up behind the trailer.
Arthur got out first.
He stretched his back and looked toward the house.
Beatrice climbed out of the passenger seat, wearing a neat cardigan and the expression she usually wore when she believed she had handled everything.
Chloe emerged from the minivan behind them.
Liam followed, then the children.
Jackson was carrying a backpack.
Emma held a stuffed animal by one arm.
Lucas looked sleepy and confused.
They had brought the whole family.
Just as my mother had promised.
I watched her walk toward the front door.
She didn't look nervous.
She didn't look as if she were approaching a difficult conversation.
She looked like someone arriving at a place where she expected to be welcomed.
That was what unsettled me most.
She had made a decision about my home and somehow convinced herself that the decision belonged to her.
The doorbell rang.
I didn't answer immediately.
I checked Harper, made sure she was settled safely in her bassinet, and walked to the entrance.
When I opened the door, Beatrice smiled.
"Good morning, Clara."
I looked past her at the trailer.
"What's all that?"
She followed my gaze as if the answer were obvious.
"Our things."
She stepped forward.
I remained in the doorway.
Her smile faded slightly.
"Are you going to let us in?"
"No."
The word came out more quietly than I expected.
Arthur stopped behind her.
Chloe looked down at the porch.
My mother stared at me as if I had spoken in a language she didn't understand.
"Clara, don't start this again."
"I'm not starting anything."
"We've discussed this."
"You told me you were moving in. I told you that you weren't."
She glanced toward the driveway.
"The children are standing outside, and the movers are waiting."
"Then you should have discussed this with me before arranging it."
Her face tightened.
"I thought you would come around once you'd had some sleep."
I almost laughed.
I had spent the night awake because of the decision she had made, and she was treating my exhaustion as evidence that I couldn't make decisions.
"I've had time to think," I said. "My answer is still no."
Arthur shifted his weight.
"Beatrice said you were having a hard time adjusting."
I looked at him.
"I'm eight days postpartum, Arthur. I'm tired because I gave birth. That doesn't mean I've forgotten who owns this house."
He looked uncomfortable.
My mother gave him a sharp glance, then turned back to me.
"Nobody is trying to take anything from you."
"You're standing in my doorway with a moving trailer full of belongings."
"We need somewhere to stay."
"I understand that."
"Then why are you making this so difficult?"
Because you didn't ask, I wanted to say.
Because you decided my home was yours to allocate.
Because you think my answer only matters when it agrees with yours.
Instead, I kept my voice steady.
"You can ask me for help. You cannot make me house seven people because you decided I have enough bedrooms."
She looked over my shoulder, trying to see into the living room.
"Where is Harper?"
"Inside."
"I want to see my granddaughter."
"You can see her when we're ready for visitors."
Her expression hardened.
"You are not going to keep that baby from her family."
"I'm not keeping her from anyone. I'm asking you to respect the time I told you I needed."
"You have had eight days."
I felt something go cold inside me.
Eight days.
She said it as if those days had been a generous allowance rather than the first days of my recovery.
I put one hand on the door.
"You need to leave the property."
For the first time, my mother seemed genuinely shocked.
She glanced at Arthur, then at Chloe.
Nobody stepped forward.
The movers were standing beside the trailer, waiting for instructions.
Beatrice lowered her voice.
"Clara, don't embarrass yourself in front of everyone."
I looked at her.
"You should have thought about that before bringing them here."
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Behind her, Jackson asked his mother whether they were going inside.
Chloe crouched to answer him.
"Just wait a minute, sweetheart."
I felt sorry for the children.
They hadn't made these arrangements.
They had been brought here because the adults in their lives had decided that my home was the answer to their problems.
But feeling sorry for them didn't make me responsible for fixing everything their parents had failed to plan.
My mother took a step back.
"Fine. We'll talk about this inside."
"No."
Her eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean nobody is coming inside."
She stared at me for another moment.
Then she turned toward the driveway and raised her voice.
"There's been a misunderstanding. Give us a few minutes."
The movers stayed where they were.
Arthur rubbed his forehead.
Chloe remained beside the minivan with her children.
I closed the door.
Not slammed.
Closed.
I heard my mother's voice rise on the other side.
Then I walked back to Harper.
She was sleeping.
I sat beside her bassinet and rested my hands on my knees.
My heart was beating hard enough that I could feel it in my throat.
I was frightened.
But I hadn't moved aside.
For once, that mattered more than the fear.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Spare Key, the Moving Boxes, and the Nursery Painted Green Finally Made My Sister Admit What She Had Helped Our Mother Plan
I Had Finally Bought a Home Where Nobody Could Make Decisions for Me, or So I Thought
Part 5 of 8
