I got a call from my neighbor about a moving truck at my house while I was at work. I came home to find my parents and sister moving his family into my house without permission. ‘You don’t need that.’ I smiled and didn’t say a word, but my one call changed everything.

When my neighbor Darlene called me at 2:17 p.m., I almost ignored it.

I was in the middle of a brutal shift at the dental office, and Darlene never called unless something was wrong. The second I answered, I knew it was one of those calls.

“Maris,” she said carefully, “there’s a moving truck in your driveway. Two men are carrying furniture into your house.”

I went still. “What?”

“And your parents are there,” she added. “Your sister too. They have keys.”

For one second, my mind tried to make it reasonable. Maybe there had been a leak. A break-in. Some kind of emergency.

Then Darlene said, “There’s a man with them. A woman and two kids too. It looks like they’re moving in.”

I left work without properly clocking out.