I knew my mother-in-law had no boundaries. I never imagined my husband was helping her search our bedroom. So when Kathryn screamed my name from upstairs, I knew she had finally found the truth I left waiting in my underwear drawer.
When I married Austin, I already knew his mother had no sense of boundaries. Kathryn never walked into a room like a guest. She entered it like a manager doing rounds. She opened cabinets while talking, straightened stacks I had left alone, and once reorganized my pantry by expiration date while I stood there holding two grocery bags.
Austin laughed.
It became his answer to everything.
"That's just Mom."
It became his answer to everything.
Kathryn had a spare key before I finished unpacking. Austin gave it to her because family should be able to help in an emergency, and somehow I was the unreasonable one for pointing out that most emergencies did not require his mother letting herself in on a Wednesday afternoon to inspect the coat closet.
Then I noticed my underwear drawer.
At first, her habits were annoying more than alarming. She refolded towels. Moved my mail. Smoothed wrinkles out of the guest-room bedspread no one had touched. She acted as if every surface in my house was waiting for her approval.
I told myself it was better to ignore her.
Then I noticed my underwear drawer.
The first time, I just stood there staring. A few things were folded differently. One bra was upside down. A pair of black underwear I knew I had shoved toward the back was lying right on top.
The second time happened after Kathryn came over for lunch and wandered upstairs.
I shut the drawer and told myself I was imagining it.
The second time happened after Kathryn came over for lunch and wandered upstairs without explanation. That night I found one of my sleep bras tucked into my sock drawer.
I stood there holding it, feeling ridiculous for how upset I was.
Nothing had been stolen. Nothing was broken. But someone had touched something private and expected me to accept it because the evidence looked small.
She found reasons to go upstairs every time she visited.
After that, I started paying attention.
Kathryn had always been intrusive. Over the next few weeks, though, her intrusions changed dramatically. She found reasons to go upstairs every time she visited. If I left the kitchen, she drifted. If Austin got distracted, she disappeared down the hallway. The bathroom drawer sat slightly crooked afterward. My jewelry box lid would be misaligned. The closet door would be open when I knew I had shut it.
