I nearly refused.
Then she showed up carrying my blue mug wrapped in a dish towel.
“I washed it,” she said awkwardly.
I took it.
“Thank you.”
She stared at the table.
“I should have asked before using your stuff.”
“Yes.”
“I thought Mom had permission.”
“From whom?”
“Ethan.”
That answer mattered.
Megan had behaved badly, but she had also lived inside the version of reality Ethan allowed Diane to create.
“I knew the rules for you were weird,” she admitted. “I asked Mom if you had agreed. She said Ethan would handle it.”
“Did Ethan ever tell you I agreed?”
“No.”
“Then you knew there was a gap.”
She nodded.
“I did.”
She apologized.
Megan moved out within two weeks, renting a room closer to work.
Diane fought the notice almost until the end. She argued that her knees made moving difficult, so we agreed to reasonable help with movers and a ground-floor rental search. I did not pay her rent. I did not reward the takeover.
I also did not need cruelty to establish a boundary.
Ethan paid for the movers from his personal account.
That was appropriate.
When Diane finally left, she took the flowered cushions.
I let her take the wooden rooster too.
I never wanted to see it again.
The house was quiet afterward.
Not peaceful.
