I noticed he didn’t say “perfect for you” or “what a lovely home.” His compliments were detached, professional, the kind you’d offer about a property you were evaluating rather than a home you were visiting.
“Thank you,” I replied, opening the guest room door and immediately registering that I’d need to change the sheets, clear out the three boxes of Christmas decorations I’d been storing on the bed since last January, and somehow make this space inhabitable on zero notice.
“I wasn’t expecting company, so give me about twenty minutes to make it actually habitable for humans.”
“Don’t go to any trouble on our account, Mom,” Sophia said, already testing the mattress firmness with enthusiastic bouncing. “We’re just so happy to be here and spend quality time with you. It’s been too long since we’ve really connected.”
Right. Quality time and connection. That explained why she hadn’t bothered to tell me she was getting married, hadn’t invited me to the wedding, and hadn’t called once during what I assumed was their whirlwind courtship.
The Real Agenda
That afternoon, while the happy newlyweds went for what they described as “a romantic walk on the beach,” I prepared the guest room properly and tried to shake the nagging feeling that this visit was fundamentally different from Sophia’s usual dramatic entrances into my carefully constructed life.
Maybe it was the way Derek had assessed my house like he was already calculating square footage. Maybe it was the fact that she’d gotten married without even a phone call to her only living parent. Maybe it was just decades of maternal instinct screaming that something was very wrong here. But by the time they returned three hours later smelling of sunscreen and salt air, I’d made a decision to trust my gut.
By dinner time—which I prepared because apparently I was now running a bed and breakfast—I had my answer about what was really happening.
Derek excused himself to take what he described as “an urgent business call,” and Sophia helped herself to a glass of my expensive Pinot Noir without asking, settling onto my couch like she’d purchased it herself.
