I put the skillet on the stove and turned the burner to medium heat. The oil sizzled, spreading a familiar aroma through the kitchen. I sliced the onions into thin half rings methodically and carefully, as I had done for the past 50 years. My hands worked automatically, and my thoughts wandered somewhere far away from the spacious kitchen with granite countertops and fancy appliances.

The sun was setting outside the window, coloring the sky over Delmare in soft orange tones. I love this time of day, quiet, measured, when you could focus on simple tasks and not think about the complexities of human relationships. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the chicken breasts I’d been marinating in herbs and lemon juice since morning. Cooking always calmed me. It gave me a sense of control over at least one area of my life.

The sound of the television came from the living room. My son, Rufus, was watching the news as usual at this time. He worked as a safety inspector for a local construction company and was always interested in incidents in the city. Sometimes I thought he was looking for a distraction from his own problems. Or maybe it was just the way he was used to spending his evening silent, staring at the screen, avoiding conversation.

The onions sizzled in the pan. They filled the kitchen with a sweet aroma. I stirred it with a wooden spatula and added a little salt. Evelyn didn’t like oversalted food, though she rarely praised my cooking. In fact, she rarely praised anything in this house, especially if it involved me. 3 years ago, when I first moved in after Rosemary’s death, my sister-in-law had pretended to enjoy my presence. Now, even that pretense was gone.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as Evelyn came down from the second floor. She worked as an event coordinator for a company that organized corporate parties, and she often stayed late, sorting through paperwork at home. Tall, slender, with carefully styled chestnut colored hair, she always looked impeccable. Even at home, she wore business blouses and skirts as if preparing for an important meeting. This evening was no exception. She wore a strict white shirt and a dark pencil skirt, even though the workday was long over.

“Barnaby, are you frying in that oil again?” Evelyn walked into the kitchen and wrinkled her nose at the frying pan. “I told you I was allergic to sunflower oil.”

I knew she wasn’t allergic. It was just another nag, but I didn’t feel like arguing.

“Sorry, I forgot. Next time I’ll use olive oil.”

“Next time you better tell me what you’re cooking. I could order takeout.” She opened the cupboard and took out a glass, poured herself some water from the filter. Her movements were abrupt, nervous. The whole day at work must have been hard. Though in recent months, all of her days had been hard, at least when it came to dealing with me. Or maybe that was part of her new behavior, too, finding faults in everything I did.

“Is Rufus home yet?” I asked, even though I could hear the TV myself, he’d gotten in half an hour ago.

“He just sat down to watch his news.” She sounded annoyed. Evelyn had been irritated a lot lately. At her husband, at work, at me, especially me.

I turned the chicken breasts in the pan and seasoned them with black pepper. The meat sizzled appetizingly.

“How much longer are you going to cook?” Evelyn looked at the clock. “It’s past 8:00 and you’ve just started.”

“15 minutes, no more. The garnish is almost done.” I nodded at the second burner where the rice was cooking in a pot.

Evelyn sighed unhappily. She always found a reason to be unhappy, even when I cooked dinner for free, bought groceries with my own money, and cleaned up the dishes.

“I could cook something myself if you’re in a hurry,” I added softly.

“after hours. Thank you, of course, but I prefer to rest properly.”

The hint was transparent. I don’t have any working day. I sit at home and have fun. Although my online carpentry courses were generating a good income, however, Evelyn knew little about it and was not interested. To her, my job wasn’t a real job because I didn’t travel to the office and didn’t socialize with my co-workers.

She walked into the living room and I heard her say something to Rufus. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone wasn’t happy. Something about the neighbors, something about the loud music I was supposedly playing during the day. Even though I had hardly listened to music in the last few months, my son answered something briefly, almost mumbled, then silence again with only the voice of the TV host disturbing the piece of the house.

I turned off the stove and began putting food on plates. The white porcelain plates were from the set Rosemary and I had gotten for our wedding. Evelyn had wanted to buy a new set, a modern one, but I’d asked to keep the old one. One of the few things in this house that reminded me of my old life, of the times when there was warmth and understanding around this table, when my wife and I hosted guests and laughed late into the night.

“Dinner is ready.”

Am I called out?

They didn’t come at once. Rufus appeared first, tall, thin, in a crumpled shirt and dark pants. In his 42 years, he looked tired and aged, gray on his temples, deep wrinkles around his eyes. The job of a safety inspector required constant tension, responsibility for people’s lives. At home, he had his own problems that he preferred not to discuss.

“Hi, Dad,” he said, sitting down at the table.

Evelyn took her usual seat across from her husband. I sat on the side as a guest. I’d bought the house 20 years ago when I’d worked as a construction foreman, but now I felt like a guest, and an unwanted one at that. This feeling grew stronger day by day. With every displeased look from Evelyn, with every awkward silence from my son, we ate in silence.

Rufus chewed slowly, thoughtfully, as if he were trying to digest not only the food, but also the day’s experiences. Evelyn was picking at the rice with her fork, pretending to eat, but actually swallowing almost nothing. Her appetite had deteriorated noticeably lately, or she just didn’t want to eat what I was cooking.

“How are things going at work?” I asked my son.

“It was okay. We were checking out the new shopping center on Main Street. Lots of violations as usual.” Rufus sounded unenthusiastic, as if he were talking about something distant and uninteresting rather than about his work, though he used to love to share professional stories, to talk about interesting objects and complicated inspections.

“What about you?” I turned to Evelyn.

“We booked a banquet hall for a corporate party in December. 200 people,” she answered dryly, not lifting her eyes from her plate.

The conversation was clearly not going well. I tried again to keep the conversation going, even though I knew it would only irritate her.

“It’s a big event. Must be a lot of work.”

“You have no idea.” Her voice sounded so tired as if she was organizing a coup d’eta, not a corporate event, or as if any interest in her work was an inappropriate invasion of her privacy.

I decided not to ask any more questions. Rufus suddenly lifted his head and looked at me. There was something awkward in his gaze, like he was about to say something he didn’t want to say. Evelyn froze too, holding her fork in the air.

“Dad, would you mind, you know, keep the house down? The neighbors complained that they could hear you vacuuming early in the morning.”

I was surprised. I always vacuumed after 9:00 a.m. in the morning, not before. and I did it not every day, but at most twice a week. Besides, our house was a detached house, far enough away from the neighbors.

“Okay, I’ll be more careful.”

Evelyn grinned, but without mirth. Her face took on an expression of cold satisfaction, as if she had accomplished something important.

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. Other neighbors will start complaining. Reputation in the neighborhood is a serious matter.”

There was more to her words than just supporting her husband. There was some hidden meaning that I didn’t catch right away, like she was hinting at something I should have known. As if my presence in the house was not only a source of domestic inconvenience, but also of public shame.

“What else are the neighbors saying?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

Rufus blushed and stared at his plate. Evelyn shrugged with ostentatious indifference. “It was nothing. The music playing loudly, the junk in the yard.”

We didn’t have any junk in the yard. I neatly stacked the boards for my projects in the shed and kept my tools in order. I rarely played music and I kept it low, but it was useless to argue. If Evelyn had made up her mind, it was impossible to change her mind.

We finished our meal in silence. The atmosphere at the table was so tense that even the delicious food seemed bland. I got up to put the dishes away, but Evelyn stopped me.

“Leave them. I’ll wash them myself. you’ve done enough work today.”

There was that irony in her voice again, as if my cooking wasn’t a help, but a burden, like I wasn’t making life easier for the family, but creating more problems. I nodded and went to my room on the first floor. It used to be a guest room. Now, it became my little world of 12 square meters.

At the computer, I sat down and checked the messages from the students in the carpentry course. A few questions about wood carving techniques, a couple of thank you notes from those who had successfully completed my projects. This work was the only thing that had brought me joy lately. My students appreciated my experience, asked questions, and thanked me for my advice. They saw me as a master of my craft, not a burden to be endured.

One of the apprentices, a young guy from Morgan, sent photos of a stool he made from my drawings. It turned out nice and neat. I wrote him praise and a few tips on how to improve the finish. Here behind the computer screen, I felt useful and needed.

From the kitchen came the clinking of dishes. Evelyn was washing plates. She did it defiantly loudly as if to show what hard work she had to do. Though I offered to help, but she accepted my help as if I were doing her a favor, not the other way around. Every action I took in the house became an excuse for hidden dissatisfaction.

The TV was still on in the living room. Rufus was watching some kind of incident program. The anchor’s voice monotonously recounted the day’s news. A highway accident, a store robbery, a fire in a private home. My son listened to it without stopping, as if he was looking for something familiar in other people’s troubles. Or maybe he was just trying to distract himself from the problems at home, which were becoming more and more obvious.

I answered a few emails and closed the laptop. The day ended the same way it had begun, in an atmosphere of latent discontent and mutual alienation. We all lived in the same house, ate at the same table, but we were strangers to each other. Or maybe we weren’t always. Maybe something had changed in those 3 years. Something I hadn’t noticed or didn’t want to notice.

The sounds from the kitchen died down. Evelyn had apparently finished the dishes and gone upstairs to the bedroom she and Rufus occupied on the second floor. The TV in the living room was silent, too. My son had gone to bed. The stairs creaked under his heavy footsteps.

There was silence in the house, but it was not the peaceful silence of rest, but the heavy silence of unspoken recriminations, and accumulated fatigue from living together. I was alone in my small room, surrounded by things that reminded me of my past life photographs of rosemary, tools, books on carpentry. Outside the window, it was finally dark. Street lights illuminated the empty road. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

I thought about tomorrow, which would be similar to today, and that something in our family life was going wrong. But what it was, I didn’t understand yet.

As I lay in the dark, I thought back to the day 3 years ago when everything changed. Rosemary had died at 7 on a Tuesday morning as the sun was just beginning to rise over Delmare. She just didn’t wake up. Her heart had stopped in her sleep. The doctor said that’s what happens after heart attacks, that the body just gets tired of fighting. But it seemed to me that she was tired of something else, of a life that had become too hard for her kind heart.

We lived together for 41 years. We met when I was 21 and she was 19. Rosemary worked as a secretary for a construction company where I was just beginning my career as a simple laborer. She was a thin girl with gray eyes and blonde hair that always smelled like lavender. She could laugh at my bad jokes and listened seriously when I told her about my plans to become a foreman.

We bought our house on Elm Street 5 years after we were married. It was small but cozy with a small garden where Rosemary grew roses and peies. She loved to tinker with the flowers in the evenings and I made garden furniture and built pergolas for her. We planned to grow old in this house, watching our children bring in grandchildren, having family gatherings around the big table in the living room.

But the kids didn’t turn out the way we dreamed. Rufus was born a quiet, withdrawn child. He did poorly in school and had few friends. After high school, he went to a technical college and majored in safety inspection. He liked the job. He didn’t have to communicate with people much. He could concentrate on technical details and avoid conflicts.

He met Evelyn when he was 28 at some corporate event. She was bright, confident, full of plans and ambition. She was working then as an assistant manager in a hotel, dreaming of a career in event management. Rufus fell in love with her immediately and without a second thought as quiet people fall in love with those who can talk and persuade.

They had a modest wedding in our garden. Evelyn wanted something more solemn, but they didn’t have the money for a big party. I remember her looking a little disappointed all evening, as if the day did not conform to her ideas of how a successful woman should marry. But Rufus was happy, and Rosemary and I did our best to make the day special.

The first few years of their marriage went smoothly. They rented an apartment downtown, rarely visited us, but maintained a good relationship. Evelyn got a job with an event management company, started to advance in her career. Rufus worked the same routine, inspections, reports, technical documentation. They seemed content with each other.

That all changed when they decided to buy a house. Evelyn found a mansion in an upscale neighborhood, but the price was exorbitant for their income. They asked us to help with the down payment. Rosemary was hesitant. It was a big sum. They would have to take out a loan against our house, but I agreed. I wanted to help my son. I wanted him to have a normal family life in a beautiful house.

We took the loan and gave the money to the young people. They bought the house of their dreams, a two-story with a large living room, three bedrooms, and a modern kitchen. Evelyn was happy. Organized excursions for her friends, bought furniture and decor. Rufus was happy, too, although I noticed he was beginning to look more tired. Mortgage payments were hard, even with our help.

Rosemary became ill a year after they moved in. At first, it was just bouts of weakness, dizziness. Doctors talked about stress, overwork, prescribed vitamins, and rest, but her condition gradually worsened. Chest pains appeared, shortness of breath. A cardiologist diagnosed angina pctorus, and then the first heart attack occurred. Hospital surgery, long rehabilitation.

I almost never left my wife’s side. took vacations at my own expense, hired caregivers, medical expenses were enormous, insurance didn’t cover everything. I had to sell the workshop I’d rented for carpentry projects and spend all my savings. Rufus and Evelyn helped as much as they could, but they had their own financial obligations.

Rosemary lived another two years after her first heart attack. Good days were followed by bad, hope by despair. She tried not to show how hard it was for her. kept gardening, cooking my favorite meals, but I could see that she was tired of the constant battle with the disease, the endless medications and restrictions.

In the last months of her life, the house on Elm Street began to seem too big and empty. Rosemary spent a lot of time in her bedroom, only coming down to eat and sit in the garden in good weather. It was hard for me to see the person with whom I had lived the best years of my life fade away. But I didn’t realize that life without her would be even harder.

After the funeral, I was left alone in a house full of memories. Everything reminded me of Rosemary. Her books on the shelf, the pictures on the wall, the flowers in the garden she had planted with her own hands. Friends advised me to sell the house and move to a smaller apartment, but I couldn’t bring myself to take that step. It seemed that selling the house would be a betrayal of her memory.

Rufus visited me every weekend for the first few months after the funeral. He’d come alone or with Evelyn, and they’d help with chores, cook dinner, try to keep the conversation going, but I could see they were uncomfortable. They didn’t know what to say to a man who had lost his life partner. And I myself didn’t know how to move on.

A year went by. I learned to cook simple meals, keep the house in order, manage the garden. I started to give carpentry lessons online. It helped to distract from sad thoughts and brought a small income, but the house still seemed too big for one person. In the evenings, the silence became unbearable.

That’s when Rufus suggested I move in with them. He said there was a spare room on the first floor that they used as a study. Evelyn also supported the idea. She said that I would not be so lonely and it would be nice for them to have an experienced person who could help with the household.

The suggestion seemed reasonable. I sold the house on Elm Street, gave some of the money to Rufus to help pay off the mortgage early and put the rest on deposit. I thought I would be useful to the young family that I could take care of the house, cook, help with repairs. I thought it would be good for everyone.

The move went smoothly. Evelyn was enthusiastic about organizing my room, buying new furniture, suggesting different arrangements. Rufus helped move things around and set up the computer for my online courses. The first weeks in the new house were pleasant. We had dinner together, watched TV, discuss plans for the weekend.

But gradually the relationship began to change. Evelyn began to make comments about my habits. I get up too early, walk around the house too loudly, cook the wrong dishes for her. Rufus tried to smooth things over at first, but then he began to agree with her more and more. I felt like I was going from a welcome guest to a burden.

3 years in this house had taught me to realize that family life was more complicated than it looked from the outside. What looked like hospitality and care was actually a temporary solution to a problem. The young people wanted to help but were not prepared for the fact that living together would require constant compromises and give and take.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day similar to today. Breakfast alone, working on the computer, trying not to disturb the owners of the house. And in the evening, another tense dinner, and the feeling that I was living in someone else’s house, even though it was my money that helped buy it.

I woke up to the sound of a notification on my phone. The glowing screen showed 2 hours and 37 minutes past midnight. The house was completely silent with only the occasional creek of boards somewhere upstairs. I reached over to the bedside table and picked up my phone.

The message came from an unfamiliar number.

My darling, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about you. That dinner was unbearable. The old boar was cooking his bland food again and telling boring stories. Rufus, as usual, was silent and nodded at me. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy in this house.

I reread the message twice. Someone had gotten the wrong number, but the mention of dinner and my son’s name made me wary. Could it refer to us? I scrolled down to the bottom of the message and saw that it had come from a group chat. There were two numbers on the list of participants, my number and another unfamiliar one. The second number differed from mine by only one digit. Apparently, someone had inaccurately dialed the number and accidentally added me to the correspondence.

I wanted to delete the message and block the number, but curiosity was stronger. Who is the old nerd? And why did the sender know my son’s name?

The phone vibrated again. A new message had arrived.

Baby boy is mine. I’ve already sold a few more of his things online. The antique clock went for $200 and the tool kit for $150. He didn’t even notice it was missing. He thinks he just forgot where he put it. Old people don’t have much memory, you know.

I got cold. An antique clock. I had actually lost my grandfather’s pocket watch a few months ago. I’d looked everywhere for it, asking Rufus and Evelyn if they’d seen it. Evelyn shook her head sympathetically and said that everyone gets absent- minded as they get older, and the toolkit disappeared last week. I thought I’d left it in the shed, but there was nothing there.

My hands shook as I opened the correspondence history. The messages were numerous, dating back to the last few months. I started reading from the beginning.

Sweetheart, today my father-in-law made some nasty stuff with chicken. I had to pretend to eat it and then threw it in the trash. He took offense that I didn’t eat enough. Rufus, of course, took his side. He says, “Daddy’s doing his best for us.

If my husband knew how tired I am of this trying, baby, maybe you should talk to your husband. Explain that you’re uncomfortable.

You don’t understand. Rufus idolizes his father, thinks we should be grateful for his help with the house, and I have to tolerate his presence, and pretend to be the happy family daughter-in-law.

I scrolled on. The messages became more and more explicit.

Honey, I found something else interesting in his room. A stamp collection and an album. The antique dealer said, “Some of the pieces are quite valuable. I could get $300 if I sold them in pieces.”

E, isn’t that too risky? He might get suspicious.

Of who? Of him. He doesn’t remember where things are half the time. And if he asks, I’ll tell him I don’t know anything. Rufus will believe me, not him.

Stamps. My stamp collection album that I’ve had since I was a kid. It was actually sitting in the closet in my room. I hadn’t checked it in 3 months, maybe more.

Quietly, I got out of bed and walked over to the closet. I opened the door, searched the top shelf with my hand. The album wasn’t there. I sat back down on the bed and continued reading.

The correspondence discussed my things, my habits, my words. Evelyn was telling her lover about everything that was going on in the house, but in such a light that I didn’t recognize myself or our family life.

Today, he did the gig again with his online tutorials, turned on the camera, and spent half an hour telling someone how to properly plan aboard, talking loud, waving his arms around. Then he wonders why the neighbors are complaining about the noise.

What about the husband? Rufus told him to be quiet today. You should have seen how offended he was. He made that face like we were hurting him undeservedly.

And I keep wondering when it’s going to end.

Then we talked about how to get rid of me. Evelyn complained that she couldn’t live in her own house, that she was annoyed by my presence at breakfast, my habit of watching the news in the evening, my attempts to participate in family conversations.

Honey, whose house is this? If I understand correctly, you’re the one who moved in.

Technically, the house is registered to my father-in-law, but we’re paying the mortgage, and then we are young. We have our whole life ahead of us, and he’s what? He’s living out his life and ruining our existence. Rufus doesn’t understand that old people should know their place.

What do you think you’re going to do?

I’m looking at a nursing home. Inexpensive, but decent. The main thing is to convince Rufus that it’s best for everyone. I’ll tell him dad needs medical care, socialization with his peers. He’s just sitting at home alone, depressed.

My fingers went numb. Nursing home. Evelyn planned to send me to a nursing home and convince my son it was for my own good.

In the meantime, she was looking for ways to make money off my stuff. The correspondents went on to discuss the details of their relationship. Meetings at coffee shops when Rufus was at work, traveling together under the pretense of business trips, future plans for when they could be together openly. The lover’s name was Dominic. He worked for the same company as Evelyn, handling the financial side of events.

The house will have to be sold, of course, when the old man goes to the alms house, but we’ll be able to buy something smaller just for the two of us. Rufus won’t mind it. His father will be looked after, and we’ll have our freedom.

And if your husband finds out about us?

Rufus, he has no idea about anything. He thinks I’m working late because of projects. So gullible, just like a child. Sometimes I feel sorry for him.

But sooner or later, you’ll have to tell him.

You don’t have to. We could wait until my father-in-law is in boarding school and then just get a divorce. I’ll say we’re at odds in character. Rufus isn’t the type to make a scene.

I read and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Evelyn, who had lived in my house for 3 years, eating the food I cooked, using my help with chores, actually considered me a burden and made plans to get rid of me. and my son was just a convenient husband to her who provides a roof over her head and doesn’t ask too many questions.

The last messages were sent tonight after our dinner.

Beloved, your e almost exploded at the table tonight. The old man started asking about my job again, acting like a caring father-in-law. Rufus just nodded and nodded like he always did. It’s a good thing we have a meeting tomorrow or I’d go completely insane.

Same place tomorrow.

Yes, at the Oak Street Cafe. Just come later. I don’t want anyone I know to see it.

Oh, and by the way, I found a buyer for his carpentry book collection. Rare editions. I can get 500 bucks.

My books, a collection of professional literature that I’ve collected over the years. Some of the editions had indeed become rare out of print. I stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. Indeed, several of the most valuable volumes were missing.

The phone vibrated again. A new message.

Good night, my good man. Tomorrow we’ll discuss plans for the boarding house. I’ve already found a suitable place. All that’s left is to prepare Rufus for the idea.

I turned off my phone and lay back in bed. It was still dark outside the window, hours away from dawn. But sleep wasn’t coming. The messages I’d read rolled around in my head. Each word imprinted in my mind.

Evelyn and her lover were planning to destroy what I thought was my family. And I didn’t even realize it.

I thought about how I would proceed. I could just delete the correspondence and forget about what I’d read. I could continue to live as I had for the past 3 years, turning a blind eye to my daughter-in-law’s coldness and my son’s growing estrangement. But now that I knew the truth, it was impossible to pretend.

In the morning, I woke up with a heavy head and a feeling that everything that had happened during the night had been a bad dream. But the phone was lying next to me, and phrases from Evelyn’s correspondence with her lover came clearly to mind. I got up, washed my face with cold water, and tried to get my thoughts in order. I had to see if what I had read was true.

At breakfast, Evelyn was especially sweet. She smiled, asked how I’d slept, even complimented my coffee. Rufus was in a hurry to get to work, but also seemed more relaxed than usual. They acted like loving relatives caring for an elderly family member. If I hadn’t read the night’s correspondence, I never would have suspected that something else was lurking beneath that mask.

“Bnaby, you look so tired,” Evelyn said, pouring me a second cup of coffee. “Maybe you didn’t sleep well. I heard your phone beeping last night.”

I almost choked on my coffee. She heard the message notification. I wonder if she suspected something.

“It was some kind of ad. I deleted it right away.”

“Oh, those spammers.” She shook her head sympathetically. “I can’t live with them at all. Have you forgotten that I’m late today? We have an important meeting with a client.”

A client meeting? Actually, a date with Dominic at the Oak Street Cafe. I nodded, trying to keep my face calm.

“Of course, I didn’t forget. I’ll have dinner ready for when you get back.”

After they left, I was alone in the house. Every room, everything looked different now. I saw not just the house I was living in, but a place where I was being ripped off and planning to get rid of me. I needed to check to see what else was missing from my belongings.

I started with the bookshelf. Indeed, seven books were missing, the most valuable publications on carpentry. Among them was a 19th century book on cabinet makers that I’d bought at an auction for $200 about 15 years ago. Antique dealers would now appraise it for much more.

There was no stamp album in the closet, which I already knew about, but I checked the other shelves. Missing was the box of silver cufflings my father had given me for my 18th birthday. Missing were an antique compass and an ivory-handled pen knife, gifts from co-workers.

Each missing item was small, insignificant, things I didn’t use all the time and might not miss for months. Evelyn chose carefully what to steal to minimize the risk of exposure. and if I was looking for something, she was always ready with a sympathetic explanation about age- related absent-mindedness.

I went into the living room and scrutinized the shelves of souvenirs and knickknacks. Missing was the ivory elephant statue Rosemary and I had brought back from our honeymoon. Also missing was a small vase of Venetian glass, a gift from my mother-in-law for our wedding anniversary. Small, beautiful things that are easy to sell online.

In the kitchen, I checked the tool boxes. In addition to a set of chisels I already knew were missing, several other items were missing, an antique hammer with a wooden handle that my grandfather used, a rosewood level, a gift from the carpentry students, small but valuable tools that collectors bought for good money.

I sat down at the kitchen table and tried to calculate the damage. Just for the items I had determined to be missing, the amount was at least $1,000. How much more had been stolen that I hadn’t noticed or remembered? Evelyn had been at it for months, maybe over a year.

The other thing I wondered was, why hadn’t Rufus noticed anything? Was my wife so adept at hiding her activities, or did my son simply not pay attention to my things? Or maybe he knew, but kept silent. This thought was particularly painful.

I picked up my phone and reread some of the messages from the correspondence. Evelyn wrote that Rufus believed her, not me. That he thought his father was an absent-minded old man who lost his own things. It appeared that the son had become his wife’s ally against his own father without even realizing it.

Around noon, I decided to check out the financial side of things. I had access to the shared family computer where the household records were kept. Evelyn kept records of expenses and I occasionally looked at those spreadsheets to see what money was being spent on.

When I opened the files, I found some interesting entries in the additional income column. For the last 6 months, there were amounts $150 in March, $200 in April, $320 in May. In the comments was selling unnecessary things. Unnecessary to whom? And who decided that these things were unnecessary?

The next thing was even more curious. Under Evelyn’s personal expenses, there were expenses that had never been there before. restaurants, cafes, gifts, clothes. The amounts corresponded to the income from the sale of unnecessary things. It appeared that she was spending the money she’d gotten from stealing my things to have fun with her lover.

One entry in particular caught my eye. Oak Street Cafe, $75. That was where she was going to meet Dominic tonight. Evelyn had been a regular at this establishment for the past few months, though she said she worked late at home.

I printed out a few pages of financial records. If need be, it would be proof of her lying and stealing. I didn’t know how I would use that evidence yet, though. I needed to think about what to do next.

Around 2:00 in the afternoon, I sat in a chair in the living room and tried to analyze the situation calmly. 3 years of living together had accumulated a lot of small details that had seemed insignificant before. Now, they were adding up to an unsightly picture.

Evelyn had indeed often criticized my habits, but I had thought it was normal family friction. Now I realized that she was just looking for an excuse to make me look bad in front of my husband. Every misstep I made, every awkward word I said was used to create the image of an annoying old man to get rid of.

Rufus was gradually drifting away from me, but I attributed it to growing up and family worries. Now it was clear that his wife was methodically turning him against his father. Not directly, not overtly, but subtly, creating an atmosphere in which the son began to see his parent as a problem, the nursing home. It was the final part of Evelyn’s plan. Convince Rufus that his father needed professional care, that he would be better off in a boarding house, and then sell the house, which technically belonged to me, and start a new life with a lover. simple and cynical, but now I knew their plans.

The question was how to use that information. I could talk to Rufus, show him the correspondence, explain what was going on. But would he believe me, or would he side with his wife like he’d been doing for the past few months? I could have just packed up and left, find an apartment, start living on your own. But that meant giving up on my family, admitting defeat. And besides, it was still my house. Why should I leave?

The third option seemed the most interesting. Waiting for the right moment to expose Evelyn publicly so Rufus could see his wife’s true face. But to do that, he had to be well prepared to gather irrefutable evidence.

The day was slowly slipping toward evening. Evelyn was due back late after an important meeting with a client. Rufus would come home from work at the usual time. I had a few more hours to think about a plan of action. One thing was clear. I was no longer going to play the role of the helpless old man who doesn’t notice his own robbery.

Evelyn came home at 9 with a blush on her cheeks in an unusually good mood. She brought with her the scent of expensive perfume and the faint odor of men’s cologne. She greeted me affably, even asked me how my day had been.

Rufus was already sitting in the living room watching the evening news.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, hanging up her coat in the hallway. “The meeting had dragged on. The client was very demanding and we had to discuss every detail.”

I nodded, continuing to stir the sauce on the meat. Dinner was almost ready. Roast pork with vegetables, mashed potatoes, fresh tomato salad. I cooked it carefully, realizing that it would be a special evening.

“It smells so good.” Evelyn looked into the kitchen. “Thank you for cooking. I’m so tired. I can’t even think about food.”

tired from a three-hour date with my lover in a cafe. I wonder what they were doing there all that time. Were they discussing plans for my eviction to a nursing home? Or were they just enjoying each other’s company with my money from the sale of my belongings?

Sit down at the table. I’ll be right with you.

I set the plates, put out the utensils, put the napkins on the table. It was business as usual, but inside I was seething with restrained anger. I’d rehearsed this moment many times during the day, but now when it came, I felt strangely calm.

Rufus came to the table in the same mood he’d always been tired, a little detached. His job as a security inspector required constant attention, and he was usually mentally exhausted by evening. Tonight, too, there was a look of tension on his face, as if something was bothering him.

“How are things going at work, son?” I asked, putting the meat on his plate.

“It was okay. Park Avenue High School was inspected. A lot of fire safety violations.”

Evelyn cut off a piece of pork and tasted it. She wrinkled her nose just barely.

“Barnaby, the meat’s a little too salty, don’t you think?”

I specifically checked the salt before serving it. The meat was salted fine, but Evelyn couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make a remark, especially after a pleasant evening with her lover, when the contrast between the two men in her life was particularly stark.

“I think it’s just right,” Rufus said, but without much conviction.

“You know, you have no salt sensitivity.” Evelyn smiled at her husband. Men in general have poor taste buds. A little sarcasm toward all men at once. Apparently, the mood after the date was so good that she wanted to share her superiority with others.

“And how was the meeting with the client?” I asked in an innocent tone.

“Great. We discussed all the details of the corporate party. It’s a very promising order that can bring the company a good profit.” She spoke with enthusiasm, her eyes shining. Indeed, the meeting went well, but not quite as she said.

“Shusham, what restaurant did you meet at?”

Alyn froze for a second. The question was unexpected and too specific.

“Not in a restaurant. At the office of a client company.”

Lie number one. According to the correspondence, she was meeting Dominic at the Oak Street Cafe.

“Oh, I see. What’s the name of the company?”

“Barnaby, why are you doing this?” Rufus looked up from his plate. I could hear the irritation in his son’s voice. He was protecting his wife from what he thought was my inappropriate curiosity.

“Dad, you’re not going to check out Evelyn’s work stuff, are you?”

Just as Evelyn had planned, Rufus automatically took her side.

“Just curious. I want to know what my sister-in-law is up to.”

“Your curiosity sometimes crosses the line,” Evelyn said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you every day at work.”

“Of course you don’t, but it’s strange that a simple question about the name of the company provokes such a reaction.”

The atmosphere at the table began to heat up. Rufus crumpled his napkin nervously, and Evelyn looked at me with ill-concealed hostility.

“Dad, what’s wrong with you today?” Rufus put down his fork. “You’re acting weird. You’re interrogating your wife over nothing.”

Over nothing? I just want to know the truth about what’s going on in my house.

“Your house? Son?” Evelyn grinned. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. We all live here together. It’s our home together.”

“It’s in my name, and I have a right to know what goes on in it.”

Rufus turned red. He hated it when the question of homeownership came up in conversation. It hurt his pride. Reminded him of his financial dependence on his father.

“Dad, stop it. You’re acting like a landlord checking out tenants. We’re your family, not tenants.”

Family. I put my fork down and looked at my son.

“Family doesn’t steal from each other. Family doesn’t lie and make plans to get rid of inconvenient relatives.”

Evelyn turned pale. Fear flashed in her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, trying to keep her tone calm.

about missing things, about your meetings, not with clients, but with your lover, about your plans to send me to a nursing home.

Rufus stared at me and at his wife in confusion.

“Dad, what are you talking about? What missing things? What lover?”

I pulled out my phone and opened Evelyn’s correspondence with Dominic.

“You want to know what your wife really did tonight? Listen to me.”

“Don’t you dare.” Evelyn jumped up from the table, but I’d already started reading.

My darling, I can’t sleep thinking of you. That dinner was unbearable. The old boar has been cooking his bland food and telling boring stories again.

Rufus froze with his mouth open. Evelyn tried to snatch the phone from me, but I pulled my hand away.

My baby, I’ve already sold a few more of his things online. The antique clock went for $200 in the toolkit for $150. He didn’t even notice it was missing.

“That’s not true,” Evelyn shouted. “Where did you get that from? You forg the correspondence?”

Honey, I found something else interesting in his room. A collection of stamps in an album. The antique dealer said some of the pieces are quite valuable.

Rufus slowly turned to his wife. His face was white as chalk.

“Evelyn, is it true?”

“Of course it isn’t. He’s making it up. Rufus, you know how suspicious he’s been lately. It must be the mental changes of age.”

I continued reading.

The house will have to be sold, of course, when the old man goes to the alms house. But we can buy something smaller just for the two of us. Rufus won’t mind it. His father will be looked after and we’ll have our freedom.

“Enough.” Rufus pounded his fist on the table. “Dad, stop this play.”

But I could see the doubt in his eyes. Too many details in the correspondence match reality.

What if your husband finds out about us? Rufus? He has no idea about anything. He thinks I’m working late on projects. So gullible, just like a child.

Rufus turned even paler. Evelyn backed up against the wall.

“That’s a vile lie. Rufus, don’t listen to him. He’s trying to make us fight.”

“One last thing,” I said calmly. “We have a meeting tomorrow at the Oak Street Cafe. Come later. I don’t want anyone I know to see.”

I looked at Evelyn.

“How was the meeting with the client at the company office?”

Evelyn was silent, breathing heavily. Rufus looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Ev, tell me it’s not true,” she remained silent. “Say it!” Roffus shouted.

“Roffus, I can explain everything.”

“So it is true.” His son’s voice trembled. “Are you really stealing my father’s things? Are you seeing your lover? Planning to put dad in a nursing home?”

Eivelyn lowered her head.

Rufus slowly stood up from the table, his face contorted with anger and pain.

“How could you? How could you do this to us?”

“Rufus, listen to me.”

“No.” He swung his hand. “For 3 years, you’ve made me think Daddy was becoming unbearable, that he was losing things, that he was hard to live with. And the truth is,” Rufus turned to me. There were tears in his eyes. “Dad, I’m sorry. I should have known. I should have protected you.”

The silence in the dining room lasted for several minutes. Evelyn stood against the wall, her face pale and her eyes darting from me to Rufus. My son sat at the table, resting his head on his hands. His shoulders were shaking. I calmly finished my coffee, watching their reactions. For 3 years, I’d been a problem for them to tolerate. Now they were the problem.

“Roffus.” Evelyn finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, pleading. “Please, let me explain. It’s not what you think.”

My son raised his head. His eyes were red. His face drained. In a matter of minutes, he had age years.

“Not what I think. E, I heard you. Dad read your correspondence. You stole his stuff. You were seeing another man. You wanted to get rid of my dad.”

“Yes, but you don’t understand the conditions I had to live in.” Evelyn’s voice became hysterical. “For 3 years, I tolerated his presence in our house. He interfered in our lives, criticized me, made me feel like an outsider in my own family.”

I put the cup on the saucer and looked calmly at my sister-in-law.

“I never criticized you, Evelyn. On the contrary, I tried to help around the house, cooking, cleaning, and you’ve been looking for a reason to complain from the start.”

“Help?” She laughed bitterly. “You controlled our every move, interfering in our conversations, giving unsolicited advice. I felt like I was living under supervision, not a family.”

Rufus was silent, shifting his gaze from his wife to his father. There was a look of confusion in his eyes as he realized that he had been living in a world of illusion for years.

“What about stealing?” he asked quietly. “How can you justify stealing?”

Evelyn lowered her eyes.

“I didn’t consider it stealing. Those things were just lying around. Barnaby didn’t even remember them. And we needed money for uh expenses.”

“Restaurants with my lover,” I added dryly. “I’ve seen your financial records, Evelyn. Every dollar you got from selling my stuff, you spent on fun with Dominic.”

She flinched when she heard her lover’s name.

“How did you know his name?”

“From your correspondence. Interesting man, by the way. Works for your company. divorce two kids. He plans to marry you as soon as you divorce Rufus.”

Rufus got up from the table abruptly.

“What? E, you were going to divorce me?”

Evelyn remained silent, looking at the floor, her silence was more eloquent than any words.

“Answer me,” Rufus shouted.

“Yes.” She raised her head, anger flaring in her eyes. “Yes, I wanted a divorce because our marriage had become a nightmare. Your father ruined our family.”

“My father?” Rufus shook his head. “Ev, we ruined our family. You did. You lied. You stole. You cheated. And you dare blame dad?”

“He made me do it.” Evelyn pointed her finger at me. “If he hadn’t moved in with us, none of this would have happened.”

I got up from the table and went to the window. Behind the glass was a dark street lit by street lights. A quiet neighborhood where decent people lived. I wondered what the neighbors would think if they heard this conversation.

“Evelyn,” I said without turning around. “I moved into this house at your family’s invitation. I sold my house and gave you the money to help with the mortgage. For 3 years, I cooked, cleaned, helped out around the house, and in return, I got lies and theft and plans to get rid of me.”

I turned to her. “But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that you turned my son against me, made him think I was a problem to be tolerated, destroyed the father-son relationship.”

Rufus sank back into his chair.

“Dad’s right, Ev. You did turn me against him, always complaining about his behavior, finding faults in his every move. And I listened and agreed.”

“Because you love me,” Evelyn exclaimed. “Or did. And you wanted me to be comfortable in our home.”

“Our home?” I grinned. “The house is registered to me, Evelyn. Technically, you’re guest here, but I never reminded you of that until you started making plans to sell my place.”

Evelyn sat back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook, but I wasn’t sure she was crying out of remorse, more like anger and frustration over the failure of the plans.

“What’s going to happen now?” Rufus asked, his voice was tired, devastated.

“It depends on your decisions,” I said calmly. “and mine.”

I went into the living room, pulled the file from the desk, and returned to the dining room. Evelyn looked up, her eyes red.

“These are the deeds to the house,” I said, placing the folder on the table. “The certificate of ownership, the deed, the deed of sale, the certificates of no incumbrances. I own the house outright.”

Rufus nodded. He knew that, but now the fact of ownership took on a new meaning.

“I also have a print out of your financial records, Evelyn. Income from the sale of unnecessary items and the corresponding restaurant expenses and of course correspondence with Dominic.”

Evelyn turned even paler.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing for now, but I want you to understand I have evidence of theft and adultery in case I need to defend myself in court.”

Rufus flinched.

“In court? Dad? You want to sue us?”

“Not you. Her?” I nodded toward Evelyn. “If she tries to claim the property in the divorce or accuse me of anything, I’ll have something to answer for.”

“Divorce?” Rufus looked at his wife. “Ev, do you really want a divorce?”

Evelyn was silent for a long time. Then she raised her head and looked her husband in the eye.

“Yes. Our marriage is over, Rufus. Maybe it’s been over for a long time. We just didn’t want to admit it.”

My son nodded. in his movement was the doom of a man who had finally realized the inevitability of loss.

“Good. Then I have some decisions to make, too.”

I walked back to the table and sat down in my seat.

“One, Evelyn leaves this house immediately today.”

“What?” She jumped up. “You can’t kick me out. I have rights.”

“What rights?” I asked calmly. “The rights of a thief and a cheater. You don’t live in my house anymore.”

“Roffus,” she turned to her husband. “Tell him something.”

Rufus remained silent, staring at the table.

“Roffus, I am your wife. Still your wife?”

“Still your wife?” And he said quietly, “but not for long.”

“Second,” I continued, “all stolen items must be returned or compensated with money. I have a list of the missing items and the approximate value of each item.”

I pulled out a sheet of paper from a folder listing the stolen property. The total amount is about $2,000. Not a big price to pay for three years of stealing.

Evelyn grabbed the sheet and ran her eyes over the lines.

“That’s overpriced. An antique watch wasn’t worth $200.”

“It was,” I said firmly. “It was worth more than that. It was my grandfather’s pocket watch from the 17th year. A collector’s item.”

“I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then you’ll have to ask Dominic or get a second job.”

Rufus looked up.

“Daddy, what about me? Do I have to move out, too?”

I looked at my son. In the last half hour, he’d gone from a confident family man to a confused man who didn’t know what to do next.

“You’re my son, and you can stay if you want.”

“What if I want to leave with my wife?”

“That’s your choice, but remember, the house is still mine. And if you leave, you leave with no right to the property.”

Rufus nodded. He knew what I meant. no claim to the inheritance after he supported his wife against her father.

Evelyn stood up and walked toward the stairs.

“I’m going to go pack my things.”

“Just your things,” I said. “Ah, and none of the things you bought with the money from the sale of my estate.”

She stopped and turned around.

“How do you know what I bought?”

“Financial records, remember? Dresses, jewelry, cosmetics. All of that was left in the house as compensation for the damage.”

“You can’t take my personal belongings.”

“I can if it was bought with stolen money, but I’m not a sadist. Evelyn, take the clothes and the makeup, but the jewelry stays.”

She was going to say something, but Rufus stopped her.

“E, just pack your things. Don’t make it worse.”

Evelyn went upstairs. Soon, there were sounds coming from upstairs, cabinets opening and closing, something falling to the floor. She was packing her life into suitcases.

Rufus and I remained seated at the table in silence. Dinner was getting cold, but no one was thinking about food.

“Dad,” my son finally said, “I’m sorry. I should have dealt with the situation sooner, to you loved your wife and trusted her. There’s nothing wrong with that. But I didn’t trust you, my own father.”

I shrugged. Evelyn had skillfully manipulated our relationship. She knew which buttons to push. what would happen to us now, to our family.

I looked at my son. There was pain in his eyes, but also hope. He wanted to write the wrongs to rebuild the relationship.

“It’s up to you, Rufus. If you really understand what happened and are willing to change your behavior, we can try to start over. And if I decide to leave with Evelyn, then that would be your choice. But the final one?”

Rufus nodded, realizing the seriousness of my words.

There was a rumble from upstairs as Evelyn dropped her suitcase. Then I heard her footsteps on the stairs. She came down with two large bags and a wheeled suitcase.

“I packed my thing,” she said without looking at me or her husband.

“Where are you going?” Rufus asked.

“To Dominic’s. He knows about the situation.”

Of course he does. Surely they discussed what would happen if their affair were discovered. They just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly and in such detail.

“Evelyn,” I said as she headed for the exit. “Don’t forget the compensation. You have a month to pay back the money for the stolen items.”

She turned around. There was anger in her eyes.

“And if I don’t?”

“then I’ll go to the police. I have all the evidence of the theft.”

Evelyn left the house, slamming the door. A few minutes later, the sound of a car starting up came from the yard. Then silence.

Rufus sat with his head down.

“It’s over,” he said quietly.

“No,” I said. “The lies are over. The truth is just beginning.”

My son raised his eyes and looked at me. For the first time in months, there was no alienation or irritation in his gaze. Just tiredness and a desire to figure out what to do next.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

He nodded.

I got up and went to the kitchen to put water on. It had been a hard day, but justice had been done. Now I had to decide how to move on with my life.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual. The house was unusually quiet. No footsteps from Evelyn on the second floor. No haird dryer running. No sound of her voice. For the first time in 3 years, I felt like the house belonged to me again.

Rufus was still asleep, and I decided not to wake him. Yesterday had been an ordeal for him. I made coffee and sat at the kitchen table with a notebook. I had to make a plan of action.

Evelyn had left the house, but that was only the beginning. There were a lot of practical matters to deal with from changing the locks to finalizing my son’s divorce. The first thing I did was to call a locksmith and arranged for the locks to be changed. Evelyn had keys to the house and I didn’t want her to be able to return without permission. The locksmith agreed to come in an hour.

Then I contacted a lawyer I knew from my days as a foreman. Dimmitri Shephard specialized in family disputes and real estate matters. I explained the situation and asked to see him.

“Barnaby, this is a serious case. And the lawyer said, “If you have evidence of the theft in correspondence about the real estate fraud plans, we can build a strong case.””

“I don’t need to punish her,” I replied. “I just want to protect myself and my son from possible claims.”

“I understand. Let’s meet tomorrow and I’ll review the documents and make recommendations.”

Rufus came downstairs around 9:00 in the morning. His eyes were red. His face was gone. Probably didn’t get much sleep last night.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Morning, son. There’s coffee in the coffee maker.”

He poured himself a cup and sat down across from me.

“I was up all night thinking about what happened, trying to figure out how I could have been so wrong about someone.”

“Love often blinds you,” I said softly. “You’re not the first or the last person to misjudge a partner.”

“But I wasn’t just wrong about Evelyn. I was wrong about you. Believing you were a liability instead of looking into the situation.”

The doorbell rang. It was the locksmith. I went to answer it and Rufus stayed in the kitchen. It took about an hour to change the locks. The locksmith installed new deadbolts on the front and back doors and replace the garage lock. Rufus watched the work in silence, realizing the symbolic significance of what was happening. The house was finally closing to Evelyn.

After the locksmith left, we returned to the kitchen. Rufus looked thoughtful.

“Dad, what if Evelyn tries to get her share of the house back through the courts?”

“She doesn’t have a share in the house,” I answered calmly. “The house is in my name. The mortgage is in my name. Evelyn never owned it.”

“I don’t. But she can say that she invested money in repairs, improvements.”

“She can, but I have documentation that all major expenses came out of my accounts. Her contributions were minimal.”

Rufus nodded, but I could see something was bothering him.

“Son, what’s bothering you?”

“I’m thinking about what happens when she realizes she’s lost. Evelyn’s not the type to give up without a fight.”

His words prove prophetic. Around noon, the doorbell rang. I looked out the window and saw Evelyn on the porch. She wasn’t alone. A strange man in a suit was standing next to her, tall, trim, with well-groomed hair. It must have been Dominic.

I opened the door, leaving the chain behind.

“What do you want, Evelyn?”

“I need to get something from the house, and I need to talk to you.”

“Everything that belonged to you, you took yesterday.”

“Barnaby, let’s settle this civilized,” the man next to her said. “I’m Dominic Hartwell, representing Evelyn.”

Representing? Interesting wording for a lover.

“Evelyn has no more interest in this house,” I replied. “And neither do you.”

“That depends on how you look at it.”

Evelyn tried to push through the door, but the chain stopped her.

“For 3 years, I’ve lived here as a landlady. Put money into the place, took care of the house.”

“Stealing from the house,” I corrected, “and made plans to sell it without the owner’s knowledge.”

Dominic pulled a file from his pocket.

“Mr. Cranwell, we’re prepared to settle this amicably. Evelyn has no claim to the house, but she wants fair compensation for her investment in its improvement.”

I chuckled.

“What investments? Buying curtains with stolen money.”

“You have no proof of the theft.” Evelyn said, “The phone records could be fake.”

“It could be, but the entries in your financial records are real, and the testimony of the antique dealers who bought my stuff from you is real.”

Evelyn’s face turned pale. She hadn’t expected me to scrutinize her activities so thoroughly.

“Besides,” I added, “I have an appointment with a lawyer. If you want to discuss anything, do it through a lawyer.”

Dominic frowned.

“Mr. Cranwell, why complicate things? We’re offering a reasonable solution.”

“Reasonable for whom? For the thief and her accomplice.”

“Dad, what’s going on?” Rufus appeared behind me.

Evelyn saw her husband and her face softened.

“Roffus, thank God you’re here. Talk to your father. He’s acting out of character. Inappropriate.”

Rufus stepped forward.

“E, you’re the one who’s been acting inappropriate for months or years.”

“Rufus, you don’t understand the situation. Your father turned you against me.”

“My father showed me the truth, which I should have seen for myself a long time ago.”

Dominic stared at Rufus intently.

“Are you Evelyn’s husband? My name is Dominic Hartwell.”

“I know who you are,” Rufus said coldly. “I’ve read your correspondence with your wife.”

Dominic’s face became tense.

“Haha. Look, we didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

“Like what?” Rufus took a step toward his wife’s lover. “How did you plan to get rid of my father? How did you plan to sell his house?”

“Rufus, stop it.” Evelyn intervened. “You don’t realize the conditions I had to live in.”

“What conditions? In a beautiful house with a caring father-in-law who cooked and cleaned where you didn’t have to pay the mortgage because daddy helped us with the money.”

Evelyn took a step back.

“Rufus, I can explain if we talk in private.”

“Explain what? How you sold grandfather’s watch? How you planned to put your father in a nursing home? How you met your lover while I was working?”

Tears came to Evelyn’s eyes.

“Rufus, please, we can fix this. Start over with him.”

Rufus nodded at Dominic.

Evelyn looked at her lover, then at her husband. There was confusion in her eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe we could.”

“Uh, Evelyn,” Dominic took her hand. “We’ve talked about this. You said the marriage was over.”

Rufus laughed bitterly.

“You see, even he’s not ready to let you go back to me. And you want to play on two fronts.”

“No, I don’t,” Evelyn exclaimed. “Honor Rufus, give me a chance to explain.”

“Evelyn,” I said firmly. “You have exactly one minute to get off my property. Otherwise, I’ll call the police.”

Dominic looked at me appraisingly.

“Mr. Cranwell, there’s no need for threats. We can resolve this in a civilized manner.”

“There are no issues between you and me, Mr. Hartwell. There’s theft and plans to commit fraud. The rest will be up to the lawyers.”

I closed the door and opened it again, removing the chain. Rufus stood beside me.

“Evelyn, go away,” my son said. “There’s nothing more for you to do here.”

“Roffus.” She held out her hands to him. “Don’t let your father ruin our marriage.”

“You ruined our marriage with your lies and your stealing and your cheating.”

Evelyn lowered her hands. A look of anger appeared on her face.

“All right, if that’s the way you want it, that’s your way. But remember, it’s all because of him,” she pointed her finger at me. “Your precious daddy ruined our family.”

“You ruined our family,” Rufus said calmly. “And the more you keep denying it, the worse you’re making it for yourself.”

Dominic took Evelyn under his arm.

“Let’s go, dear. There’s nothing more for us to do here.”

“No.” Evelyn broke free of him and took a step towards the house. “I won’t let that old man ruin my life.”

“Your life was ruined by you,” I said. “When you thought you could steal and lie with impunity.”

“Stealing? I took things I didn’t need. You didn’t even remember them.”

“Yes, I did and valued them. Everything you stole was part of my story, and you turned it into money for restaurants with your lover.”

Evelyn stopped talking, realizing she was losing the argument.

“Evelyn, come on.” Dominic insisted. “We’ll work it out through the lawyers.”

She looked at him with irritation.

“Dominic, don’t boss me around. You’re the reason everything’s gone wrong.”

“Because of me,” he was surprised. “Evelyn, you’re the one who suggested dating and you wanted to divorce your husband because you promised to marry me. You said we’d be happy together.”

Rufus watched the scene with disgust.

“E, listen to yourself. You’ve turned into a hysterical woman.”

“Hysterical?” Evelyn turned back to her husband. “I put up with your father for 3 years cooking, cleaning, smiling when I wanted to scream. And now I’m hysterical.”

“You lied for three years,” Rufus said tiredly. “And stealing. And you planned to get rid of the man who helped us buy the house.”

“He didn’t help. He was controlling. He interfered in our lives.”

“I’m tired of this argument.” Evelyn was ready to blame anyone but herself.

“Evelyn, last warning. If you’re not off my property in a minute, I’m calling the police.”

I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing the emergency number.

“Barnaby, stop,” she exclaimed. “Okay, I’m leaving. But this isn’t over.”

“It is for me,” Rufus said. “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.”

Evelyn looked at him with hatred.

“Good. Then I’ll have to go to court and ask for half of everything.”

“Half of what?” I put the phone away. “The house is mine. The car is in Rufus’s name. You have no joint savings. What exactly do you want?”

Evelyn was confused. Indeed, they didn’t have much in common.

“I want compensation for emotional distress.”

“What damages? For the fact that you were caught stealing?”

Dominic took her arm again.

“Evelyn, please. We’ll discuss this at home.”

“At home?” She looked at him. “At your house? Where is my home?”

“Your home never existed,” I said. “It was my house where you lived as a guest.”

Evelyn finally realized she had lost. Her shoulders slumped.

“Roffus,” she said quietly. “I’m asking you one last time. Give us a chance to talk alone.”

My son shook his head.

“No, Ev, it’s too late.”

She stood for a few seconds, then turned and walked toward the car. Dominic followed her. A minute later, they drove away.

Rufus and I were left standing on the porch.

“Is it over?” my son asked.

“No,” I answered. “Now it begins.”

Rufus looked at me questioningly.

“Now we have to learn to live again. No lies, no mistrust, no trying to please someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”

My son nodded. There was relief and sadness in his eyes at the same time. Relief that the truth had finally been revealed. Sadness that the marriage he believed in had turned out to be an illusion.

We returned to the house. It now belonged to us again. Father and son, who had lived under the same roof for 3 years, but had been separated by someone else’s lies. We had to rebuild relationships, learn to trust each other, build a new life on the wreckage of the old one.

I brewed fresh coffee, and we sat down in the kitchen. The sun was shining outside the window, illuminating a house where there was no more room for deception.

It had been 6 months since the night I’d read Evelyn’s correspondence with her lover aloud. 6 months was enough time for life in the Cherry Lane house to change dramatically. The house became a home again, not a battleground where every word could cause conflict.

Rufus filed for divorce a week after his wife’s revelation. The procedure went relatively smoothly. Evelyn tried to claim the division of property, but her lawyer quickly realize that the case is hopeless. Jointly acquired property of the spouses were practically not, and the facts of theft and adultery made Evelyn’s position extremely vulnerable. In the end, they divorced without dividing the property, each left to his own devices.

Evelyn compensated for the damage from theft, not fully, returned only $1,200 out of 2,000. The rest of the money she spent on a lawyer and on settling into a new life with Dominic. I did not seek full compensation through the court. It was more important for me to close this page and move on.

My son walked around like a lost man for the first few months after the divorce. He blamed himself for his blindness, for believing his wife, for distancing himself from his father. He tried several times to find Evelyn to talk and finally understand what had brought their marriage to a crashing halt, but she categorically refused to meet, and Dominic even threatened to go to the police if Rufus did not leave them alone.

Gradually, my son began to come around. We talked a lot in the evenings, repairing a relationship that had been damaged by years of mistrust. Rufus talked about his doubts that had surfaced in the last months of the marriage, about how Evelyn had skillfully directed his resentment toward me. I tried not to judge him. He was as much a victim of manipulation as I was.

Work helped Rufus take his mind off his personal problems. He started staying in the office longer than usual, taking on additional projects. Management appreciated his diligence. 4 months after the divorce, my son was promoted to superintendent with a corresponding raise.

My online carpentry courses were expanding too. After the house was calmer, I was able to focus on work. I started a new beginners program and began conducting workshops via video link. The number of students tripled and my income increased enough that I could afford some home improvements. The first thing I did was renovate the workshop in the basement. I bought new machines, updated the lighting, and installed a ventilation system. Now I could not only teach online but also fulfill orders for furniture making. Several clients approached me online after seeing examples of my work in video lessons.

Rufus watched my activities with interest. It turned out that in his youth he was also interested in carpentry, but Evelyn considered this hobby too noisy and dusty. Now my son started coming down to the workshop in the evenings, helping with simple operations, learning to work with tools. It became another way of repairing our relationship.

The house changed, too. Gone was the atmosphere of tension that had hung in the air for the last few years. My son and I began cooking dinner together, discussing the news, making plans for the weekend. Rufus turned out to be a good conversationalist when he wasn’t under the influence of his wife. He had his own opinion about many things which he had not expressed before for fear of conflicts with Evelyn.

The changes were also in the everyday details of life. I could cook the meals that my son and I liked without having to adapt to my daughter-in-law’s whims. I could turn on music while working in the workshop without fear of noise complaints. I could invite old friends to visit without fear of a cold reception from Evelyn.

One such visit was particularly memorable. Ted Harrison, a former colleague of mine from the construction company, came to visit. I hadn’t seen him in 4 years, and he was surprised at the change in my life. When I told him the story about Evelyn, Ted shook his head.

“Barnaby, I told you there was something wrong with that girl. Remember at Rufus’s wedding? She looked at everything as a temporary inconvenience.”

I remembered that wedding. Evelyn did seem uncomfortable with the modesty of the gala, but at the time, I put it down to the bride’s nervousness.

“I guess I should have trusted your instincts more,” I said.

“Don’t beat yourself up. Parents always want to see the best in their children’s partners. It’s normal.”

Ted stayed for dinner and we spent a lovely evening reminiscing about old times. Rufus joined the conversation as well. It turned out that my son listens with interest to stories about my youth, about working on construction sites, about the projects I was involved in. In the past, Evelyn always interrupted such conversations, finding them boring.

Relations with the neighbors have improved, too. Mrs. Bradford, who used to complain about my morning noise, it turned out, never made a complaint. It was Evelyn’s concoction, a way of making me feel uncomfortable in my own home. When I happened to meet an elderly neighbor at the mailbox and apologized for the disturbance, she was surprised.

“What disturbance, Mr. Cranwell? You’re a very quiet neighbor. I don’t even know when you’re home and when you’re not.”

This conversation finally convinced me that Evelyn was methodically building a system of lies designed to make me feel unwelcome in my own home.

In the spring, I decided to renew the garden. Rosemary had left behind a beautiful flower garden, but I hadn’t given it enough attention over the years in my son’s house. Now, I had the time and inclination to take care of the plants. Rufus helped me with the hard work, digging, hauling bags of fertilizer, installing new trelluses for the climbing roses. Working in the garden proved therapeutic for both of us. Rufus was gradually releasing the bitterness of the divorce, and I was releasing the resentment of years lived in an atmosphere of latent hostility.

We didn’t talk much while we worked, but this joint activity brought us closer together than long conversations. By summer, the garden was transformed. The roses I had planted in Rosemary’s memory bloomed. There were new beds of annuals. Rufus built a small gazebo in the far corner of the property, a place to sit with a book or just think about life. Neighbors often stopped to admire our garden. Mrs. Bradford even asked for advice about her roses, which were not blooming well. I gave her fertilizer and explained the feeding technique. A month later, she brought us a cake to thank us for our help.

These little things, good relations with neighbors, working together with my son, being able to do what I love without looking at other people’s opinions, constituted a new quality of life. I realized that for the last few years, I had been living in constant tension without even realizing it. Now that the tension was gone, I felt 10 years younger.

My online courses continued to expand. I launched a series of video lessons on antique furniture restoration. This proved to be a very popular topic. Many people wanted to restore family heirlooms or treasures found at flea markets. The income from the courses grew so much that I was able to invest some of the money in expanding the workshop.

Rufus suggested we set up a second workshop in the garage specifically for training purposes. We could hold face-to-face workshops for those who prefer group learning to online courses. The idea seemed interesting and we began planning the remodeling of the garage. Working on this project gave us another opportunity for bonding. Rufus took a vacation and helped me with the renovation for two weeks. We installed additional windows for better lighting, ran a separate power line for the machines, and insulated the walls.

By the end of the summer, we had a full-fledged training workshop with four workstations. I held the first group classes in September. Six people signed up, two pensioners, a housewife, a college student, and two middle-aged women. The classes were held on Saturdays lasting 4 hours with a lunch break. Rufus assisted me in the role of an assistant making sure that safety procedures were followed and helping the students learn the tools.

The success of the first group exceeded my expectations. All the students successfully completed the basic course and made their first projects. Simple stools and shelves. Two signed up for the advanced course. The local newspaper wrote a small article about my classes, after which a second group signed up. By the end of the year, my carpentry classes had become wellknown in town. I was getting orders not only for training, but also for furniture making. Several local interior designers began recommending me to their clients as a craftsman capable of creating unique pieces to individual designs.

Rufus, too, has changed over the year. The divorce, painful at first, ended up being good for him. He got rid of the constant stress of trying to please a disgruntled wife, became more self-confident, began to express his own opinion, stopped constantly apologizing for his actions and preferences. At work, he was promoted once again. Now he was in charge of a small security department. His salary increased so much that his son could afford some of the pleasures he had never dreamed of before. He bought a new car, joined a gym, and started learning French simply because he had always wanted to.

Rufus’ personal life had not yet improved, but he was in no hurry to start a new relationship. He said that he wanted to first fully understand himself, to understand what mistakes he made in his marriage with Evelyn so as not to repeat them in the future. Sometimes he met women he introduced to his colleagues or old friends, but he didn’t build serious relationships yet. I like this caution from my son. Too many people throw themselves into new relationships immediately after a divorce, trying to numb the pain and loneliness. Rufus chose the wiser path of giving himself time to recover and rethink his life.

As for Evelyn, we knew almost nothing about her. Once in a while, someone we knew would tell us that they had seen her and Dominic at a restaurant or a mall. They said they had moved to another part of town, that Evelyn had changed jobs, but no one knew the details, and we weren’t interested.

The only time Evelyn tried to contact Rufus all year, it was in November, just before the first anniversary of their divorce. She sent a long email apologizing for the past and suggesting we meet to discuss things like adults. Rufus showed me this email. Evelyn wrote that she’d realized her mistakes, that her relationship with Dominic hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, that she’d rethought a lot of things over the year. She suggested not to renew the marriage, but to just talk to close the painful subject and move on.

“What do you think?” Rufus asked.

I read the letter again. I think she wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe her own life hasn’t turned out as well as she’d planned. So, we shouldn’t date. That’s your decision, but think about it. What do you want to hear from her? And what can you say to her?

Rufus pondered his answer for days. In the end, he wrote a short and polite letter thanking Evelyn for apologizing but refusing to meet. He explained that he considered this page of his life closed and saw no point in opening it. Evelyn never wrote again.

Winter brought new plans and projects. I decided to write a book on the basics of carpentry. Many students asked for systematized material that could be studied between classes. In addition, the book could be a good supplement to online courses.

Rufus offered to help with the technical side, layout, design, print preparation. It turned out that he had an aptitude for graphic design that he didn’t realize he had. In his youth, he dreamed of becoming an architect, but his parents insisted on a more practical specialty. Now, these creative inclinations have been applied to our common project.

We worked on the book in the evenings and weekends. I wrote the text and made sketches. Rufus created drawings and diagrams, designed the pages. It was laborious work, but we both enjoyed it.

By the end of the winter, we had a manuscript of 200 pages with illustrations and detailed instructions. Finding a publisher was easier than I expected. One of the local printers specialized in educational literature and agreed to publish our book in a small edition. By spring, Carpentry Basics for Beginners was on sale in several bookstores in the city.

The success of the book exceeded our modest expectations. The first edition sold out in two months. We had to print additional copies. Several schools ordered books for technology lessons. Online stores began to offer our book all over the country. Rufus was just as proud of the success as I was. For the first time in his life, he was involved in creating something significant, something that would be useful to people for years to come. It gave him a new appreciation for his own abilities and talents.

By the end of the year, I realized that my life had turned out exactly the way it was supposed to. The years living in my son’s house under the rule of a lying daughter-in-law turned out not to be wasted time, but a challenge that ultimately brought Rufus and I closer. We both learned a lesson from that situation and grew wiser. Our home was now a place of honesty, mutual respect, and shared interests. We weren’t just living under the same roof. We were a father and son team, supporting each other and working toward common goals.

It was exactly what I dreamed of when I sold my house on Elm Street. Evelyn got what she deserved, a life without stability or trust, built on deception. And Rufus and I got what we’d fought for, a real family where everyone valued each other and no one made plans to get rid of the people we loved.