The knocking started again almost immediately.
At first, it was my mother.
Then Arthur tried.
After that, Chloe called my phone.
I watched it vibrate on the kitchen counter.
I didn't answer.
I had already explained myself, and I wasn't going to keep repeating the same sentence until someone decided it sounded acceptable.
The knocking stopped.
A minute later, my phone rang again.
This time, it was Liam.
I let it ring until the call ended.
Then I heard my mother's voice outside.
"Clara, we cannot stand here all morning."
I looked at Harper.
She had begun stirring in her bassinet, disturbed by the noise.
I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, away from the front door.
When I returned, I heard Arthur speaking in a lower voice.
"Maybe we should give her some time."
My mother answered too quietly for me to hear every word.
I caught one sentence.
"She's being impossible."
I stood beside the hallway wall and listened.
I had spent years hearing my mother describe other people whenever they refused to do what she wanted.
Stubborn.
Unreasonable.
Ungrateful.
Difficult.
The words changed depending on the situation, but the purpose never did.
If someone disagreed with her, she made the disagreement sound like a flaw in their character.
It was easier than admitting they might have a good reason.
My phone lit up again.
Chloe had sent a message.
Can we please talk privately?
I looked at it for a long time.
Part of me wanted to ignore her.
Another part wanted to know whether she understood what she had done.
I finally typed back.
You can talk to me from the porch. Nobody is coming inside.
She replied almost immediately.
Okay.
A few minutes later, there was a softer knock.
I opened the door only as far as the chain allowed.
Chloe stood alone.
Her eyes were red, though she wasn't crying.
"Can you take the chain off?"
"No."
She looked past me toward the hallway.
"How's Harper?"
"She's fine."
"I wanted to see her."
"I know."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Chloe folded her arms tightly across her chest.
"Mom says you're refusing to help us."
"I'm refusing to let everyone move into my house without permission."
"She thought you'd agree."
"Why?"
Chloe looked away.
I waited.
She had spent most of her life avoiding difficult conversations, and I knew silence made her uncomfortable.
Usually, I would have filled it for her.
This time, I didn't.
Finally, she said, "Things have been bad for a while."
"I know Liam lost his job."
"There's more than that."
She told me they had fallen behind on bills.
The rent had become difficult to manage, and the landlord had given them notice.
They had tried to work out another arrangement, but nothing had come together in time.
I listened without interrupting.
I understood why she was frightened.
I understood why she wanted somewhere familiar to go.
What I didn't understand was why she had allowed our mother to turn her emergency into a demand against me.
"Why didn't you call me and ask for help?"
Chloe rubbed her forehead.
"Mom said you would say no."
I stared at her.
"Did you ask me?"
"No."
"Then how did you know?"
She didn't answer.
I felt my anger rise, but I kept my voice low.
"You knew I was about to have a baby. You knew I had just bought this house. You knew I wanted time to recover. And instead of talking to me, you and Mom started making arrangements."
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"How was it supposed to happen?"
She looked down at the porch boards.
"Mom said if we arrived together, you'd see how serious things were."
I felt a strange pressure behind my eyes.
There it was.
The plan had never been about asking me.
They had decided that if enough people stood on my doorstep, with children and belongings and a moving trailer, I would feel too guilty to refuse.
My mother's confidence suddenly made sense.
She hadn't been expecting a conversation.
She had been expecting surrender.
"Did you know she was going to tell me to leave?"
Chloe shook her head.
"I didn't know she said that."
"But you knew you were coming here."
"Yes."
"And you knew I hadn't agreed."
She hesitated.
Then she nodded.
I stepped back from the door.
Not to let her in.
I needed a moment to steady myself.
"Chloe, why did you try to get into my house last night?"
Her face changed.
I had not mentioned the security camera before.
For a second, she looked genuinely confused.
Then she understood.
"You saw us?"
"I saw you use my key."
She glanced toward the driveway.
"Liam had some things in the van. Mom said we should bring a few things over before morning."
"Why didn't you knock?"
"We thought you'd be asleep."
"So you decided to let yourselves in?"
She pressed her lips together.
"We weren't trying to steal anything, Clara."
"I never said you were."
She looked wounded, and I hated that her expression still made me question myself.
But the issue wasn't whether she intended to steal something.
The issue was that she had decided my permission wasn't necessary.
I removed the chain and opened the door a little farther, though I stayed in the doorway.
"You were given that key because I trusted you to help me when I needed it. I didn't give it to you so you could help Mom move people into my house."
Chloe's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry."
I wanted to accept the apology.
I wanted to hug her and tell her that we could figure everything out.
But I had learned that an apology could become another way to avoid dealing with what had happened.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Now you find another place to stay."
"We have nowhere to go today."
"I understand."
"Then what are we supposed to do?"
"I can help you look at options. I can help with the children while you make calls. We can talk about what you need."
She stared at me.
"But you're not letting us stay here."
"No."
She looked toward the driveway again.
My mother was standing beside Arthur, watching us.
When she saw Chloe's expression, she started toward the porch.
"What's taking so long?"
Chloe turned.
"Mom, she isn't changing her mind."
Beatrice stopped.
I watched her face settle into something harder.
"Of course she isn't. Clara has always cared more about getting her own way than helping the people who raised her."
I had heard that accusation in many forms.
It used to hurt because I wanted her to understand me.
Now I was beginning to understand that she didn't have to misunderstand me for the accusation to work.
She only had to say it loudly enough for other people to hear.
I looked at Chloe.
"Please get the spare key from your coat and leave it on the porch."
She hesitated.
Then she reached into her pocket.
The key lay in her palm.
For a moment, I remembered the day I had handed it to her.
I had been so grateful that someone was willing to help me with the repairs.
I had trusted her without thinking twice.
She placed it on the porch railing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I nodded.
I wasn't ready to forgive her.
But I wasn't going to pretend the apology meant nothing, either.
I closed the door and turned the lock.
The little click sounded louder than it should have.
Outside, my mother began speaking again.
I couldn't make out the words.
I didn't need to.
The key was back in my possession.
And for the first time since the moving trailer arrived, Chloe had admitted that the situation hadn't been a misunderstanding.
It had been arranged.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Mother Kept Calling Me Selfish Until I Offered Help on My Terms, and Then She Had to Face the Difference
I Had Finally Bought a Home Where Nobody Could Make Decisions for Me, or So I Thought
Part 6 of 8
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