All Chapters of Lock Out My Parents and Lose It All: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Someone replied a mere three minutes after the message was posted, "Good job, management. They need to stop people like them from getting in. What happens if something goes wrong? What if they're casing the place? "It's almost New Year's, and there are more thieves around this time of year.""Exactly. They can't just let them in."I stared at the screen.That was my mother they were talking about.The scarf she was wearing was one I'd bought for her last year. She'd said she didn't want to wear it and had saved it just for the New Year's.That canvas bag had been mine throughout college. I'd used it for four years. Later, I told my mother to keep it around when she said she wanted to throw it away. She'd held onto it ever since, bringing it all the way here from our hometown.I zoomed in on the photo.My mother was standing in the wind, squinting as if she were looking for something.I started typing. My hands were shaking."That's my parents. I'm Sylvia Lind, the owner of U

I looked at my mother's wrist. There was a red mark circling around it, digging deep into her skin.A police officer walked over. "What happened? Who did this?"The middle-aged man stepped forward, his tone immediately softening. "Officer, it was just a misunderstanding. The security guard must've made a mistake. We were only concerned about the committee's safety. She's fine. An apology should settle it."The officer ignored him and turned to my mother. "Ma'am, you tell me. What happened?"My mother tugged her sleeve down over her wrist. "It's nothing, officer. Everyone meant well. They were worried there might be bad people."She paused. "I'm not hurt."The officer glanced at her wrist, and then at the dried cranberries and walnuts scattered across the ground.He said nothing.The younger officer who had come with him went through the things that had spilled from my mother's bag.Dried cranberries. Walnuts. Dried mushrooms. Knitted socks. Two food containers, one filled with

He didn't take it. The business card fell to the floor.I shut the door in their faces.My mother stood in the middle of the living room. She'd overheard everything.She said softly, "Sylvia, I'm sorry for causing you trouble."I walked over to her. "You didn't.""It was just some trouble at the gate. It wasn't worth—"I took her hand, silencing her. The red mark around her wrist had turned a shade of dark purple. "Mom, this isn't about getting through the gate."My mother nodded and said nothing else.I made breakfast for my parents bright and early the next morning.I fixed my mother a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and watched her finish it.She'd iced her wrist last night, so the swelling had gone down some. Unfortunately, the mark was still dark and raised.My father barely ate a thing. He just pushed his food around with his fork a few times, then set it down.There was a commotion outside.I stepped onto the balcony and looked down.A crowd had gathered around E

I paused. "Do you think I'm running a charity?"He hung up on me after that.My father was watering the pothos on the balcony that evening.I approached him, watching drops of water gather on the leaves before rolling into the soil. "Dad?""Hmm?" he grunted."The neighborhood here is nice. Why don't you stay here a little longer?"He didn't turn around as he replied gruffly, "Sure."He tilted the watering can, letting a thin stream run into the pot. "This morning, your mother said that the grocery store here is closer than the one back there.""Yeah.""And the security guard at the entrance even showed us the way."He set down the watering can. The sky had turned orange-red with layers of clouds stretching across it like folded silk.As I looked at the horizon, all I could make out through the dusk at Crescent Bay were the antennas on the rooftops.I didn't bring up that particular community again.A week later, word reached me about what was brewing in the homeowners' gro

I enjoyed a kind of peace in my new home that I had never known before. Even better, it lasted for several days, too.I woke to the morning sunlight, listening to my mother hum old songs in the kitchen while my father watered the pothos on the balcony.In the afternoons, I would make myself a cup of coffee and sit by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the children play in the garden below. Every now and then, I would be reminded of the trees and people at Crescent Bay.As time passed, those memories began to blur, as if it had all been nothing more than a distant nightmare.I deliberately avoided anything related to Crescent Bay, hoping to let that unpleasant chapter of my life settle into the past for good.Alas, life had a way of dragging buried memories back into the light when I least expected it.A week later, I was coming home from the grocery store with bags of meat and vegetables in both hands when I ran into Beatrice from upstairs at the elevator that evening.She w