Chapter 3

Over the weekend, the renovation crew arrived.

They pounded and drilled all day, tearing my old kitchen to shreds.

Fiona stood in the middle of the mess, holding blueprints, pointing and bossing the workers around with pride.

It hurt to watch. Those cabinets and countertops might have been old, but my late husband, Johnson, had built them with his own hands when we got married.

They had been with me for thirty years. They held my memories.

But to Fiona, they were just junk that needed to be purged.

I didn't argue. I just went back to my room.

I didn’t realize the fire would soon spread to my bedroom.

The day after the kitchen was finished, Fiona knocked on my door, holding her laptop.

"Mom, we need to talk about something."

She smiled politely, but my stomach dropped.

"Look, the kitchen looks absolutely gorgeous now. But because of that, the living room style feels off."

"We want to tear down this wall to create an open-concept family lounge. But..."

She pointed toward my bedroom door.

"Your bedroom is right in the middle of the layout. It completely blocks the natural light."

"Plus, my parents are planning to come stay with us for a while soon, and we’re short on space."

"So, we were thinking of turning your room into a cozy den."

My mind went completely blank. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Then where am I supposed to sleep?"

"The basement storage room, of course," Fiona said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

"It’s a bit small, but once we clear out the boxes, it’ll fit a bed."

"You’re just one person anyway. You don’t need that much space. You don’t mind making a small sacrifice for the family, right?"

She framed it as a suggestion, but her eyes held absolutely no room for negotiation.

A hot wave of anger rushed through my veins.

This was my house. The deed of this house had my name and Johnson’s name on it.

Now, they wanted to kick me out of my master bedroom and shove me into a five-square-meter, windowless basement room?

Before I could blow up, Claude walked in.

He looked at me with a guilty but pleading expression.

"Mom, don’t be upset. Fiona is only doing this to make the house better."

"Think about it. When her parents arrive, the house will be so lively."

"And turning your room into a den will make the house look so elegant when we host guests. It’ll give us so much social credit."

"So my comfort doesn't matter, but your social credit does?" My voice shook with anger.

Claude lowered his head, whispering, "Mom, that’s not what we mean. It’s just about upgrading our living environment..."

"Upgrading your environment by throwing me into a basement?" my voice cracked.

Seeing the tension, Fiona immediately put on a victimized face. Her eyes welled up with tears.

"Mom, I didn’t know you’d hate me this much for trying to help."

"We’re putting our own money and effort into making this home beautiful for everyone. Why can’t you understand that?"

She clung to Claude’s arm, crying softly.

"Claude, see? I knew your mom had an issue with me."

"I know I’m blunt sometimes, and maybe I didn’t think about how she’d feel."

"But I had no bad intentions. Forget it. Let's just drop the renovation. I don't want to ruin your relationship with your mother because of me."

Her damsel-in-distress act worked like a charm on Claude.

He immediately pulled her into a comforting hug.

"Fiona, don't cry. You did nothing wrong. It's my mom. She's just too stubborn to see the bigger picture."

He turned to me, his tone sharp with blame.

"Mom! Can you stop being so difficult? Fiona has put so much effort into this house!"

"Can’t you support us for once? Do you have to ruin everyone's happiness?"

Looking at the two of them, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest.

"Fine," I spat through gritted teeth. "I’ll move."