When Kathryn finally emerged from the bathroom, her hands were scrubbed raw, though faint traces of purple still shimmered around her fingernails—a permanent reminder of the lesson she had learned that afternoon. She picked up her handbag without saying another word, glaring at me with icy resentment as she walked down the stairs. Austin walked her out to her car, ensuring she left without further incident.
As I closed the vanity drawer and reset my bedroom to its proper order, I felt a deep sense of relief wash over me. The boundary had been drawn, loud and clear. From that day on, Kathryn never stepped foot in our bedroom again, and my privacy was finally ours to keep.
