Chapter 2 - Just Until She Got Back on Her Feet)
Fiona had moved into Shannon's home eighteen months earlier with three suitcases, three children and a promise.
"Just until I get back on my feet."
Shannon remembered standing in her driveway while Fiona's minivan idled behind them.
The children were exhausted.
Ten-year-old Noah carried a backpack and tried to act older than he was.
Eight-year-old Sadie held a stuffed rabbit.
Seven-year-old Eli had fallen asleep against a suitcase.
Fiona looked destroyed.
Her marriage to Kyle had collapsed after years of arguments.
Shannon didn't ask whose fault it was.
That wasn't important.
Her sister needed help.
The children needed stability.
Shannon had a four-bedroom home.
It seemed almost selfish not to say yes.
"Three months," Fiona had said. "Maybe four."
Shannon hugged her.
"Stay as long as you need."
Those six words became the foundation of every problem that followed.
In the first month, Shannon didn't mind.
The house felt alive.
The children filled rooms that had previously been silent.
They left crayons on the kitchen island.
Shoes appeared beneath couches.
Cartoons played on Saturday mornings.
Shannon enjoyed packing lunches.
She enjoyed helping Noah with math.
She even enjoyed hearing Sadie knock on her bedroom door to ask impossible questions like whether birds knew they were flying.
Fiona was grateful then.
Or seemed grateful.
She cooked twice during the first week.
She bought groceries once.
She cleaned the kitchen.
She said thank you constantly.
"You saved us," she told Shannon one night.
Shannon believed her.
Then Fiona began having bad days.
The divorce paperwork was stressful.
Kyle was difficult.
The children were adjusting.
Fiona needed rest.
Shannon understood.
So she made dinner more often.
Then school began.
Fiona said morning traffic triggered her anxiety, so Shannon started taking the kids twice a week because her office was "sort of on the way."
It wasn't.
The detour added thirty-five minutes.
Then Fiona's minivan needed repairs.
Shannon covered the bill.
"I'll pay you back after Kyle sends support."
He didn't, according to Fiona.
At least that was what Shannon believed.
A month later, Fiona said the job market was impossible.
She had worked intermittently in event planning before the divorce.
Now she wanted something flexible enough for the children.
Shannon agreed that made sense.
Another month passed.
Then another.
By Thanksgiving, their mother stopped referring to Fiona's situation as temporary.
When Shannon mentioned apartments one afternoon, Elaine looked shocked.
"Why would she waste money on rent when you have all this space?"
All this space.
As though the house had appeared without a mortgage.
As though Shannon hadn't spent years saving the down payment.
As though empty bedrooms represented an obligation.
Shannon laughed awkwardly.
"I thought the plan was temporary."
Elaine lowered her voice.
"Don't pressure her right now."
"When should I?"
"After the holidays."
After Christmas became after the children's spring semester.
Spring became summer.
Summer became after Fiona found stable work.
The target moved every time Shannon approached it.
Robert was quieter than Elaine, but he rarely challenged her.
He had spent decades surviving family conflict by waiting for the loudest person in the room to stop talking.
Fiona had inherited Elaine's certainty.
Shannon had inherited Robert's silence.
That combination worked beautifully for everyone except Shannon.
The first major argument happened over a utility bill.
Shannon found Fiona in the kitchen scrolling through her phone.
"The electric bill is almost four hundred dollars."
Fiona barely looked up.
"It's Arizona."
"It wasn't four hundred last year."
"There are four extra people."
"Exactly."
Fiona finally raised her head.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying maybe we should figure out how to split some household costs."
A pause.
Then Fiona's eyes filled.
It happened so quickly Shannon almost admired it.
"I didn't realize we were inconveniencing you."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you meant."
"No."
"I can take the kids to a motel if you want."
"Fiona."
"They'll love that."
"Stop."
"No, it's fine."
Shannon stared at her.
The conversation had somehow transformed from four hundred dollars of electricity into Shannon threatening children with homelessness.
She apologized.
That was the first time.
It wasn't the last.
Over the next year, the pattern became almost mathematical.
Shannon raised a concern.
Fiona escalated emotionally.
Elaine intervened.
Shannon apologized.
Nothing changed.
The children began assuming Aunt Shannon would solve practical problems.
Not because they were entitled.
Because the adults taught them to.
When a permission slip needed money, Fiona said, "Ask Aunt Shannon."
When Noah needed new soccer shoes, Fiona said, "Maybe Shannon can take you."
When Sadie wanted supplies for a school project, Fiona said, "Put it on the kitchen list."
The kitchen list was a magnetic notepad Shannon had originally bought for groceries.
It slowly became a catalog of other people's needs.
Milk.
Cereal.
Printer ink.
Glue sticks.
Laundry detergent.
Noah shoes.
Sadie field trip.
Eli costume.
Fiona shampoo.
One evening Shannon came home and found the words birthday decorations written at the bottom.
"Whose birthday?" she asked.
"Sadie's."
"Her birthday is in three weeks."
"I know. We need to plan."
"We?"
Fiona looked at her.
That single word carried warning.
Shannon changed the subject.
The strangest part was that she still loved having the children there.
That complicated everything.
Eli sometimes fell asleep beside her during movies.
Sadie left little drawings on Shannon's desk.
Noah quietly took the trash outside without being asked.
They were not the problem.
Which made it easy for Fiona to hide behind them.
Whenever Shannon discussed money, Fiona discussed the children.
Whenever Shannon asked about moving out, Fiona discussed school stability.
Whenever Shannon asked about work, Fiona mentioned childcare.
Every road led back to the same conclusion.
Shannon needed to sacrifice more.
One Sunday, Robert visited to repair a loose cabinet hinge.
While they worked, he quietly asked:
"How are things?"
Shannon nearly told him.
Instead she smiled.
"Fine."
Robert studied her.
"You sure?"
She tightened a screw.
"Yeah."
He nodded.
"Your mother worries about Fiona."
Shannon gave a short laugh.
"Everybody worries about Fiona."
Something in her voice made Robert glance at her.
But he didn't ask.
And Shannon didn't explain.
That was the tragedy of the Mercer family.
They could sense trouble perfectly.
They simply preferred not to name it.
Three months before Shannon's birthday, the situation began changing in ways she didn't understand.
Fiona started taking phone calls outside.
She became protective of her laptop.
She asked strange questions about Shannon's mortgage.
How much equity did she have?
Was the interest rate fixed?
Was Shannon planning to refinance?
Shannon assumed Fiona was finally becoming curious about buying a place of her own.
That assumption made her hopeful.
One night Fiona asked:
"If someone lives somewhere long enough, do they get any rights?"
Shannon laughed.
"What kind of rights?"
"I don't know. Residency rights."
"Why?"
"Just something I saw online."
Shannon forgot about the conversation.
Later she would remember every word.
May you like
Especially Fiona's next question.
"What happens if the homeowner dies?"
