My name is Margaret Wilson. I’m seventy years old, and for four decades I earned my living as a seamstress, stitching clothes late into the night to keep my family afloat.

I never wanted luxury—only calm. That’s why, after my husband passed away, I bought a modest house by the sea. It was meant to be my sanctuary. My reward for a lifetime of work.

That weekend, all I wanted was quiet. The rhythm of the waves. A warm cup of tea. A long, uninterrupted sleep. Instead, everything unraveled the moment I arrived.

Cars I didn’t recognize clogged the driveway. Music blasted through open windows. Voices shouted over one another. Children ran wild through my garden, kicking balls into the flowerpots I’d nurtured for years. My stomach tightened with dread.

And then I saw her.

My daughter-in-law, Clara, stood on the terrace wearing one of my aprons, laughing as though the place belonged to her. When she noticed me, she didn’t lower her voice. She shouted so everyone could hear:

“What’s this old parasite doing here? There’s no space for her!”

The words sliced straight through me. Behind her stood at least eight people—her mother, her sister Paula, several men, even a baby. My home looked like a temporary shelter. Wet towels draped over my chairs. Cigarette smoke drifting from the balcony. The kitchen reeking of burned food.

“Clara,” I said evenly, “this is my house. I’ve been coming here for twenty years.”

She laughed harder.

“My husband said we could stay as long as we like. You barely show up. You’d only complain and ruin the mood.”

In a matter of minutes, my home was no longer mine.

“Where’s Daniel?” I asked, still hoping my son would step in and put a stop to it.

“Working,” she replied coldly. “Unlike you.”

Then she added with a cruel smile, “There’s no room. And honestly, your presence makes everyone uncomfortable.”

Even a teenage girl chimed in, almost casually, “Why don’t you just get a hotel?”

I inhaled slowly. Swallowed the shame. Smiled.

“I understand,” I said.

Clara’s smile widened. She thought she’d won.