Chapter 3: Home Invasion

I’d barely touched my chair before she grabbed my arm, pulling me back like a mom snatching a kid away from the Thanksgiving pie.

I blinked, confused. “Mrs. Peterson, what are you doing?”

My voice trembled, but I kept my chin up. I wasn’t about to let her bully me in my boyfriend’s house.

She declared, “Women here don’t eat at the table. You eat in the kitchen.”

Her words hung in the air like a bad smell. I looked around, half-expecting someone to laugh and say it was a joke. But no one did.

I blurted out, “Aren’t you a woman?”

I couldn’t help myself—the words just slipped out. The room went dead silent, and I felt every eye on me.

She lifted her chin proudly. “I gave the Peterson family two healthy sons to carry on the family name. You haven’t contributed anything yet—how can you compare to me?”

She puffed up with pride, like she’d just won a blue ribbon at the county fair. I stared at her, stunned by the backward logic.

I didn’t argue. I just scooped some food into my bowl.

I moved slowly, savoring every second of rebellion. If they wanted a show, I was ready to give them one.

Then, under her smug gaze, I gripped the edge of the wooden table.

My knuckles turned white as I stared her down, daring her to stop me. My mind raced—Is this some rural tradition, or am I on a hidden camera show?

With one hard shove, I flipped it over!

The crash was deafening. Plates, glasses, and food went flying—mashed potatoes splattered the wall, gravy oozed down the sideboard. For a moment, the only sound was the clatter of silverware hitting the floor. My heart hammered, but I didn’t flinch.

The table crashed to the floor, dishes and bowls shattering everywhere. A green bean rolled across the linoleum, coming to rest by my shoe. I stared at it, oddly satisfied.

Kyle’s mother glared at me and shrieked, “Lauren Bennett, are you out of your mind?!”

Her face twisted with rage, veins popping at her temples. She looked like she might explode right there.

I curled my lips into a cold smile. “If I’m not allowed to eat at the table, then nobody eats.”

My voice was steady, icy. I watched her sputter, unable to come up with a comeback.

She was so furious her face turned purple, and she raised her hand to slap me.

Her arm shook with anger, but before she could swing, I saw Kyle and his brother leap up.

Kyle and his brother, Ryan, quickly stepped in to stop her, grabbing each of her arms, talking over each other, trying to calm her down before things got even uglier.

One tried to calm her down, the other said she couldn’t hit me. The voices overlapped, the tension thick as gravy.

Ryan’s voice cracked as he pleaded, while Kyle looked like he wanted to disappear. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

Oddly, Ryan seemed even more anxious than Kyle.

He kept glancing at me, sweat beading on his forehead. It was like he was afraid I’d bolt and take his last shot at a free ride—maybe hoping to score my apartment if things went south.

Just as I was puzzling over this, Kyle’s mother calmed herself and started sizing me up. “Your family’s not well off, your temper’s bad, and your salary’s not much. Kyle is different—he got promoted two years after graduation. Frankly, you’re not good enough for him.”

She ticked off my flaws like she was reading from a grocery list, her tone sharp and dismissive. I folded my arms, waiting to see where this train wreck was headed.

I wanted to see what she was up to, so I played along. “So what are you getting at?”

I kept my voice even, but inside I was seething. If she wanted to play games, I was ready.

Thinking she’d hooked me, she revealed her real motive: “If you sign over your apartment to Ryan, I’ll grudgingly agree to let you marry Kyle.”

Her words hung in the air, bold as brass. I almost laughed—so that was it. The whole family act, the fake concern, all for a piece of real estate.

Ha.

I let out a dry chuckle, shaking my head at the audacity.

So she was after my apartment all along.

It all clicked—the sudden interest, the pushy questions, the weird obsession with my family’s money. They didn’t want a daughter-in-law; they wanted a payday.

I sneered, “Mrs. Peterson, who says I have to marry Kyle?”

I made sure my words were sharp, slicing through her smugness. The room went quiet again, everyone waiting for her reaction.

She got flustered, her voice shrill as she threatened, “You won’t? Then I’ll tell everyone you’re Kyle’s cast-off!”

Her threat was childish, like something out of a high school breakup. I barely managed to keep a straight face.

I ignored her and looked at Kyle.

I searched his eyes for any sign of backbone, any hint that he’d stand up for me. Instead, he looked away, staring at the floor like a scolded puppy.

For the sake of our two years together, I was willing to give him a chance to handle things.

I took a deep breath, hoping he’d surprise me, hoping he’d prove he was worth the trouble.

But Kyle let me down. He wouldn’t meet my eyes and pretended not to hear.

He shuffled his feet, mumbling something about not wanting to get involved. My heart sank. I realized then that I was on my own.

So I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door.

I didn’t bother with goodbyes. I slung my bag over my shoulder and marched out, the sound of my boots echoing down the hall.

The whole family blocked the exit, refusing to let me leave.

They formed a wall, arms crossed, faces set. It was like some twisted version of a family photo—one I wanted no part of.

I scoffed, “Kyle, I just told Jessica. If she doesn’t hear from me tonight, she’ll call the cops.”

I pulled out my phone, waving it in his face for emphasis. Jessica was my roommate, and she didn’t mess around.

He panicked, but still tried to talk me down. “Do you really have to make this so ugly?”

His voice wobbled, like he was more worried about his reputation than my safety. Typical.

I cut him off, “Move, or all three of you can explain yourselves down at the police station.”

I stared them down, daring them to test me. In small towns, the sheriff’s office was never far away, and I knew how to make a scene if I had to.

Kyle had worked so hard to leave this little town—if he got a police record now, all his efforts would be for nothing.

I saw the calculation flicker across his face. He hesitated, then slowly stepped aside, the others grumbling but following suit.

Sure enough, he reluctantly stepped aside.

I pushed past them, the cool morning air hitting my face as I walked to my car. I didn’t look back.

When I got home, I immediately texted Kyle to break up.

I kept it short and to the point. No drama, no explanations. Just done.

He refused to accept it, called me several times, but I ignored him and went to bed.

The phone buzzed late into the night, but I silenced it, pulling the covers over my head and letting the exhaustion finally win.

The next day, I went to the office to cancel my leave. When I got home, I found my place occupied.

The elevator ride up felt endless. When the doors slid open, I was greeted by the unmistakable smell of cheap beer and takeout. My heart sank.

My custom Italian leather sofa was being trampled by Mrs. Peterson’s dirty feet.

She lounged there like a queen, muddy boots and all, leaving smudges on the pale leather I’d saved up for months to buy.

Ryan was sprawled shirtless nearby, surrounded by empty beer bottles, completely wasted.

He snored softly, a half-eaten pizza slice balanced on his stomach. The place looked like a frat house after homecoming.

When she saw me come in, Mrs. Peterson dangled my apartment key in front of me, grinning smugly. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

She jingled the key, her eyes glinting with triumph. My blood boiled—how had it come to this?

Recognizing the key I’d given Kyle, I was instantly furious.

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to scream. I’d trusted him, and this was how he repaid me?

I’d thought he was at least decent enough not to make a scene after a breakup. Who knew he’d stoop to squatting in my place?

It was a betrayal I never saw coming. My home, my sanctuary, turned into a battleground.

I pulled out my phone and started recording. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police!”

I made sure to get her face, the mess, everything. I knew from experience that video evidence spoke louder than words.

Mrs. Peterson dashed out to the hallway, banging on every neighbor’s door.

She pounded on doors, her cries echoing down the hall. Doors cracked open, curious faces peering out.

When everyone peeked out, she threw herself to the ground and wailed.

She dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face—or maybe it was just for show. Either way, she knew how to play the victim.

“Everyone, come see! My daughter-in-law is heartless!”

Her voice rose to a dramatic wail, drawing a crowd. I could feel the eyes burning holes in my back.

“I just brought my younger son to stay for a few days, and she wants to call the cops to kick us out!”

She sobbed, clutching her chest like she was auditioning for a soap opera. Ryan groaned from the couch, oblivious.

“This is obviously my house!”

She gestured grandly, as if the cheap throw pillows and framed photos were hers. I couldn’t believe the nerve.

The neighbors were in an uproar.

Whispers and mutters filled the hallway. I could see Mrs. Jensen from next door shaking her head, her arms crossed in judgment.

One after another, they pointed at me.

It felt like a modern-day witch trial. I stood my ground, refusing to let them see me sweat.

“You can’t judge people by their looks. This girl looks so sweet, but her heart is cold as ice.”

Someone muttered it just loud enough for me to hear. I bit my tongue, refusing to snap back.

“She didn’t pay for the apartment, so why is she kicking out her mother-in-law?”

A man in a fishing vest shook his head, clearly buying into Mrs. Peterson’s story.

“Having a daughter-in-law like that—what terrible luck.”

Mrs. Peterson sniffled louder, playing up the part. I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

I crossed my arms and sneered, “Mrs. Peterson, my parents bought this apartment for me. What does it have to do with your family?”

I raised my voice, making sure everyone heard. I saw a few neighbors exchange glances, their expressions shifting.

Mrs. Peterson stopped crying and said matter-of-factly, “You’re going to marry Kyle. What’s yours is ours—what’s the problem?”

She said it with such confidence, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I almost laughed at the audacity.

The neighbors were stunned and went silent.

You could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, the crowd wasn’t so sure who to believe.

So it was just an unlucky girl with a nightmare of a future mother-in-law.

I could see the sympathy in some faces now, a few people shaking their heads at Mrs. Peterson’s boldness.

Just then, Kyle rushed over.

He burst through the stairwell, breathless, his eyes wild as he took in the scene.

Seeing his mother on the floor, he immediately blamed me. “Lauren Bennett, my mom is your elder. Can’t you just give in a little?”

He didn’t even ask what happened—just jumped to her defense. Typical.

I rolled my eyes. “Are you kidding? We’ve already broken up—she’s not my elder anymore.”

I said it loud and clear, making sure the neighbors heard every word. No more playing nice.

Kyle yelled, “I didn’t agree to break up!”

His voice cracked, desperation creeping in. I almost felt sorry for him, but not enough to change my mind.

I couldn’t be bothered to argue. “You have three minutes to leave, or I’m calling the police.”

I stared him down, phone in hand, ready to dial. This was my home, and I wasn’t backing down.