Her name is Diane, and for years she had treated every improvement in my husband’s life as if it naturally extended to her. When Marcus got promoted, she hinted at a monthly allowance. When we upgraded our car, she asked for the old one before we had even discussed it. When we mentioned moving, she didn’t congratulate us—she immediately asked how many bedrooms there were and followed it with, “Good. I’ll finally be comfortable.”

Marcus and I had exchanged a look at the time, but neither of us challenged her. That was the pattern. Diane had a talent for saying unreasonable things in a pleasant tone, making it seem like refusing her would be the real offense. Over time, though, it became clear she wasn’t joking or exaggerating. She was testing boundaries—and expecting them to give.She started talking about how tiring it was to maintain her own home. She mentioned loneliness more often. Then she began referring to our move as “our fresh start,” as if the decision had already been made for us.

Two weeks before our closing date, she called Marcus and casually said she had listed her house for sale.

He put her on speaker. “Why would you do that now?”