“I am the mother of the man you are going to marry, and I am not going to stand in the doorway like a stranger.”
Bernice Gable’s sharp voice instantly shattered the peaceful silence of the modern downtown penthouse at eight in the morning that quiet Saturday. Abigail Prescott, thirty-five years old, was still holding her warm cup of coffee when she watched her future mother-in-law push the heavy oak bench by the entryway with her hip and walk right in without taking off her wet street shoes.
Bernice certainly had not arrived alone at the front door. She was hauling two gigantic striped canvas bags, a frayed cardboard box bound with thick twine, and ruined leather shoes caked in thick, dark mud. It had poured continuously the night before in the small rural town of Oakhaven where she lived, and sticking to one of her muddy soles was a soggy piece of cardboard along with a slimy piece of rotten lettuce.
With every heavy step she took across the pristine threshold, Bernice left a greasy, dark stain on the pale oak floorboards that Abigail had spent years saving up to install.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bernice,” Abigail said, forcing a calm tone despite the sudden tightness in her chest. “Please take off your shoes right here, as we do not walk around inside my home wearing street footwear.”
“Oh, so now I need your special permission to step foot inside my own son’s place?” Bernice snapped right back, unceremoniously dropping one heavy canvas bag onto the floor. “My son lives here, which makes this his home too, so you can easily wipe the floor down later without it costing you a single dime.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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