They never knocked. That was the thing that always got me—the quiet click of a key in our front door and the sudden presence of my in-laws in my kitchen, like the house itself had invited them. Aarav would murmur, “Be nice. They helped us buy this place,” and I’d swallow whatever I was about to say because thirty percent of a down payment felt like thirty percent ownership to everyone but me. Yesterday, I came home early and walked straight into a nightmare wearing good manners. His mother had my mail spread open on the coffee table—insurance statements, a...
Continues…