I tried to keep calm. “Natalie… where is all of my kitchenware?”
She didn’t even flinch. “Oh, I threw it out. It all looked really worn out. Don’t worry—I bought you a pink nonstick pan!”
I blinked. “You… replaced my entire kitchen with one pan?”
“Well, I also decluttered the pantry. You’ll thank me later.”
I gave her a polite smile, but inside, I was in shock. I’d never been so casually dismissed in my own home.
The next morning, I made pancakes. She poked at them and frowned. “You didn’t use that old flour, did you? I tossed it.”
“Of course not,” I replied with a tight smile. “Wouldn’t want to serve anything you wouldn’t eat.”
Later that morning, she and my son went out to brunch. Apparently, my cooking wasn’t “Instagram-worthy.”
Once the house was quiet, I went upstairs. Her vanity looked like a boutique: rows of high-end skincare, neatly lined up. I took a large storage bag and carefully packed every item. Not a single bottle or tube was damaged. I tucked the bag away in the attic, under old linens and boxes of holiday decor. Safe, untouched.
That evening, Natalie burst into the room, flustered. “Where’s all my stuff?!”
“Which stuff?” I asked.
“My skincare! My makeup! Everything’s gone!”
“I didn’t throw it out,” I said calmly. “I simply packed it up. It looked a bit cluttered.”
“You went through my personal things?”
“You did the same with my kitchen,” I replied gently.
She was stunned. “That’s completely different!”
“Is it?” I smiled. “I even kept your pink frying pan. It was thoughtful of you.”
Just then, my son walked in, clearly confused by the tension. “What’s going on?”
“She went through all my stuff!” Natalie exclaimed.
“I didn’t get rid of it,” I repeated. “It’s packed safely. Would you like me to get it for you?”
There was a long silence. Then she asked quietly, “This is about the kitchen, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
Later that day, she handed me an envelope with a list of everything she’d discarded—some of which she had considered “junk” at the time. I brought down the bag with her things, untouched and in perfect condition.
She didn’t say much. Just held the bag like it contained something precious.
Before she left, I added gently, “Next time we go away, I’ll ask my other son and his wife to house-sit. They know how to respect someone else’s space.”
My son looked at me in awe. “Wow,” he said quietly. “You really don’t mess around.”
I smiled and patted his shoulder. “Sweetheart, never underestimate someone who knows the value of home.”