She was crying—hard. The kind of crying that steals your breath and makes it impossible to form full sentences.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she sobbed. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

She told me her apartment renovation had spiraled out of control. The kitchen was gutted. Dust everywhere. No sink. No cabinets. She’d been surviving on cereal and instant noodles, sleeping badly, living out of boxes. And now Christmas was days away, and everyone else already had plans.

“I just need a place to breathe,” she said quietly. “Just for a week.”

Dave stood in the doorway listening, arms crossed.

“Could I stay at your house while you’re gone?” Mandy asked. “I swear I’ll be invisible. I’ll leave everything exactly how it was. Please.”

I hesitated. Our house isn’t fancy, but it’s ours. Our kids’ rooms. Their routines. Their sense of safety.

But she sounded broken. And she’s family.

So we said yes.

Before we left, I cleaned like a maniac. Fresh sheets in the guest room. Surfaces wiped down. A cleared shelf in the fridge labeled with her name. I even left a small note on the refrigerator:
Make yourself at home. Merry Christmas.

As we locked the door behind us, I told myself it would be fine.

And the vacation was perfect.

The kids chased waves. Dave actually finished a book. I slept to the sound of the ocean instead of the dishwasher. On our last night, Max asked if we could stay forever.

The happiness lasted until I opened our front door.

The smell hit me first—stale, sour, wrong.

I stepped inside and stopped cold.

Our kitchen looked like chaos had moved in and settled comfortably. Trash overflowing. Empty bottles lined up across the counter. Red plastic cups scattered on the floor. Sticky rings on every surface. A half-eaten bowl of food sat abandoned on the coffee table, crusted over like it had been forgotten for days.

I walked into the living room.

And that’s when my heart truly sank.

Whatever Mandy had promised us… our home was no longer it.

The couch cushions were stained. Not a little. A lot. Darkened and blotchy. Blankets crumpled on the floor. A bowl of something half-eaten turning crusty on the coffee table.

Behind me, Lily whispered, “Mom?”

Little bits of glass glittered in the carpet.

I swallowed. “Yeah, baby?”

“Why does it look… gross?”

I didn’t answer.

I walked down the hall. Max’s door was open. His bedside lamp was on the floor, the base cracked in half, the bulb shattered.

Little bits of glass glittered in the carpet.

In Lily’s room, her stuffed animals were scattered. Drawers open. Her favorite blanket wadded up near the closet.

“Did we get robbed?”

This didn’t look like someone had “stayed over.”

It looked like the aftermath of a party. A big one.

Max stood in his doorway, staring at the broken lamp.

“Did we get robbed?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I said. My voice sounded flat. “Aunt Mandy stayed here, remember?”

His face crumpled. “She broke my stuff?”

“What happened here?”

Dave’s jaw was tight. “I’m calling her.”

We walked back to the kitchen. I dialed Mandy and hit speaker.

She picked up on the third ring. “Heyyy,” she said. “You guys home?”

“What happened here?” I asked.

I tried to keep my voice steady. I don’t think I did.

A beat of silence. “What do you mean?”

She let out this irritated sigh.

“The house is trashed,” I said. “There are beer bottles everywhere. Trash everywhere. The kids’ rooms are messed with. Max’s lamp is broken.”

She let out this irritated sigh.

“I had Christmas,” she said. “You said I could stay.”

“You promised it would just be you,” I said. “No parties. No guests.”

She gave a little laugh. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad. You’re super picky about cleanliness. I was going to come back and clean.”

“I’m going over there.”

“There is shattered glass in my kid’s carpet,” I snapped. “He could have stepped on it.”

“Okay, relax,” she said. “I can’t afford to replace a lamp right now. Renovations are killing me. It’s just stuff. The kids are fine.”

I hung up before I said something I couldn’t take back.

Dave stared at me. “I’m going over there,” he said.

“It’s late,” I said.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re not going to believe this.”

He grabbed his keys and left.

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