The Day My Husband Invited Six Fingerprints Into Our Home — And I Chose Freedom Instead

It was a bright afternoon, and I was cleaning the kitchen when the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on a towel, opened the door — and froze.

There they stood: Mark’s entire family. His mother, two younger sisters, his brother, and the brother’s wife — each holding bags, boxes, and suitcases as if moving in for good.

Before I could even speak, his mother smiled widely. “Oh, sweetheart! This house is perfect! Big enough for all of us to live together.”

Behind me, Mark appeared, grinning. “Mom! You’re here! I already called the technician so everyone can register their fingerprints on the door system. It’ll make things easier.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?” I asked quietly. “You let them register their fingerprints?”

He shrugged, confused by my tone. “Why not? This is my house too. They’re my family. It’ll be fun having everyone together.”

Fun.

That single word echoed in my head like an insult.

The Promise He Forgot

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