My parents sold their paid-off house to rescue my sister, then showed up at my lake house with a moving truck. “We’re your parents. We don’t need permission to live here,” Dad demanded. But when I found a note slid under my front door, I realized this was much worse than a family emergency.

“Carter, finally. Get your coat. We need to unload before the mattresses get wet.”

“Unload what?”

“The truck,” he snapped. “We’re moving in.”

I stared at him.

“You’re what?”

My mother hurried beside him clutching her purse dramatically.

“Please don’t start this tonight, Carter,” she said weakly. “We’ve had the worst day. Can we just come inside?”

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