I walked into the garage and pulled out the old folding table my dad used for yard sales. Then I grabbed every toy, stroller, diaper box, and baby item Megan had been “storing” in our garage for the last year while their basement was being renovated.
My husband kept asking, “What are you doing?”
I said, “Exactly what she taught Mom.”
At 6 a.m., I loaded everything into the truck and drove straight to Megan’s house. I stacked every single box neatly across her driveway. Right in front of her husband’s truck so he couldn’t leave for work without moving it himself.
Then I taped my mother’s little notebook to the top box.
Every date.
Every unpaid day.
Every excuse Megan gave.
And underneath, I wrote one sentence:
“No contract means no free storage either.”
By noon, Megan was pounding on our door crying that the HOA was threatening fines because her stuff blocked the sidewalk.
My mother quietly looked up from her crossword puzzle and said:
“Maybe next week your paycheck will come.”