But when I glanced up again, Katherine had not moved.
I told myself it was nothing.
Just Katherine being Katherine, obsessed with boundaries and order and the way things were supposed to be.
“Come on, kids, ten more minutes!” I called, pushing the unease away.
Their laughter answered me, bright and careless.
I did not yet understand that Katherine had already decided our peaceful summer days were about to end.
I told myself it was nothing.
I was slicing sandwiches at the kitchen counter when the shouting reached me.
It was not my children’s laughter.
It was an adult voice, sharp and furious, cutting through the afternoon.
I dropped the knife and hurried out the back door.
Katherine stood beside my pool, her arms crossed, leaning over my youngest with a scowl.
The gate in my fence hung open behind her.
It was an adult voice, sharp and furious
She had walked straight into my backyard without asking.
“What’s going on?” I asked, moving between her and my kids. “Did something happen?”
“Your kids are TOO LOUD,” she snapped. “I want some peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask?”
I looked at my four children, dripping wet and frozen in place.
Their faces had gone pale.
“Your kids are TOO LOUD,”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I’ll ask them to keep it down.”
The words tasted like ash.
I had been in the kitchen the whole time and I had heard nothing but splashing.
My children know they are not allowed to scream.
They know the rules.
But I apologized anyway, the way I always did.
I had heard nothing but splashing.
“See that you do,” Katherine replied, turning on her heel.
She paused at the gate, her eyes hard.
“Because I promise you, this is the last time I ask nicely.”
She marched back through the gate as if she owned the path.
I knelt down and pulled my oldest close.
“Mom, we weren’t yelling,” she whispered. “We promise.”
She marched back through the gate
