For eight years, she let her mother-in-law take over every family holiday in her own home. This Thanksgiving, she smiled, stayed quiet, and let everyone believe they were getting exactly what they wanted. But who was really in control?
I must have straightened the place cards six times before I finally made myself stop.
“They’re already straight,” Harley called from the kitchen.
“I know.”
“Then why are you still moving them?”
I looked down at the table.
Every napkin was folded the same way.
Every plate sat exactly where I’d measured it.
For the first time in eight years, Thanksgiving looked the way I’d imagined it.
Then I remembered who was coming.
The satisfaction disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
Every Thanksgiving in this house had belonged to Diane. She’d arrive four hours early, march straight to my table, and start moving things.
“Oh honey, the centerpiece is blocking the sightline.”
“Madison, sweetie, we always fold the napkins the other way.”
Last year, she’d walked six cousins through my bedroom without asking. When I found her opening my linen closet, she smiled like I was the strange one.
“You’re acting like a guest in your own home,” she’d said.
